


Do I Have To Say The Words?

by GranolaSuite



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF, British Comedy RPF, British TV Celebrities RPF, Cumberbitches, Cumbercollective
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Artistry, Banter, ComicCon, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I promise I'll update my other fics soon, Prompt Fic, Romance, Smut, Witty Banter, Writing Prompt, romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 29,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5803891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GranolaSuite/pseuds/GranolaSuite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When not working with canvas and oil, London based artist Piper Kincaide moonlights as a comic book illustrator. Taking her artwork to a London based ComicCon, she happens upon man of the moment, Benedict Cumberbatch. Interested in her work, he strikes up a conversation and asks for her number. </p><p>The thing is, he's in a relationship... and so is she... so, what happens next?</p><p>I've changed the name of the fic... for a hint of why, check out the Bryan Adams song of the same name...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Strange Introduction

I feel like I’m back in high school. There’s a hum of voices surrounding me, the sliding of plastic carry trays, the clatter of knives and forks clashing with plates, and each other. I take a seat at a table in the back corner and observe.

Observation is a necessity in the art world. Authors observe speech, artists observe form and, together and alone, we come up with something resembling the human form. If we’re lucky.

The room I was observing didn’t quite give me insight into the usual mum and dad type routine of people. Celebrities were never very good for that. Such a small population held up on a pedestal by so many, yet they formed the greater opinion on what looked good and what didn’t.

Speaking of good looking, Benedict Cumberbatch. Do I need to expand on that topic? Like a school essay. “Benedict Cumberbatch is a good looking man. Discuss sighting examples from the text. (1000 words, 10 points).”

I snorted at the thought and buried my head in my plate of over processed, under cooked convention food. You think it’s all glitz and glam? I was sitting two tables away from a million-dollar film star, and he had to eat the same shitty reconstituted mashed potato as I did. Salivate over that while you chow down on your burgers, your Greggs pastries, and Twizzlers.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin and sucked down what was left of my cola. Just enough energy to get me through the rest of the afternoon.

_Thank you, that’s very kind._

_What’s your name?_

_Lovely to meet you._

_I’m so glad you enjoy it._

_Wonderful, thank you again._

_Have a nice day._

We got paid well enough to be at these comic conventions, I can tell you that much. Some of us more than others and, judging by the queue at Cumby’s stand, he was making a killing over the weekend. I was just excited that I’d sold half of my drawings by Sunday afternoon, and that some people knew who I was.

“Could you sign this for me, please?”

My attention snapped back to the present and away from the sketch pad that was leaving grey lead smeared across my fingers and the side pad of my hand. I slid forward into the seat, offered a smile, and scribbled my name across the bottom of a drawing.

“Piper… Kincaide…” I muttered. “What’s your name?”

“Ben, but don’t make it out to me, please.”

I looked up to find said Mr. Cumberbatch of the thousand-word essay standing in front of me, dressed as Doctor Strange. Ten points, definitely ten points.

“You aren’t serious?” I snorted.

“Hiding in plain sight, my friend.” He tapped his nose as if to pass a little secret between the two of us.

“And you’re buying artwork of yourself?” That wasn’t conceited at all.

“Charity auction,” he answered. “Do you do artwork on commission?”

“What are you after?”

I watched a small swarm of girls turn up, one person noticing, who told another, and then another, before my stall was surrounded by security guards doing their best to whisk away the star of the show and disperse the awaiting throng. The Ghostbusters of the comic convention. _Zap, zap, zap_ , away they disappeared in a cloud of tears and hyperventilation.

Helped my sales though.

“I’ll have what he had!”

As you wish.

**

I dropped my duffel bag inside the front door, threw my keys into the bowl on the side, untwisted the car from my legs, and made for the couch.

“Hey you.” Christopher looked up from his newspaper, his eyes following me around the open plan flat that we shared in East London. Dagenham, to be exact. The district line out of town, and then the 145 Leytonstone bus onward home.

“Hey.” I threw myself over the back, landing a kiss on his cheek as I went.

Christopher was everything. North, south, east, and west. Hot and cold, and all four seasons. There was nothing I wanted for when I looked at him, and nothing I could imagine getting from anyone else. I lay back with my head across his lap and looked up at him. It was a Sunday afternoon, and that means he was in his best Sunday outfit, torn jeans, faded navy V-neck t-shirt, and dirty blonde hair everywhere.

“How’d you go today? Tell me all about it.” He twisted his fingers through my blonde hair, mindlessly brushing the tangles from it.

“I did okay,” I answered. “Not quite the same as an exhibition opening night.”

“Well, different demographics for one.” He smiled. “You’re comparing apples and oranges. Late fifties business men and women compared to fifteen-year-old's that work at Burger King for five pound an hour.”

“Yeah, I know,” I agreed. “Things picked up when a certain Cumberbatch bought a drawing.”

“What’d he buy one of?”

“Himself.” I smiled at the memory. “Said it was for a charity auction, but you never know with these people.”

“He’s quite the philanthropist from what I’ve heard in my travels.”

“You know of him?”

“Yeah. Odd looking thing.”

“He’s quite alright,” I defended him with a smile. “Got a business card, wants to know about commission pieces.”

“That’d be a nice leg up into the right circles, if nothing else.”

“Hmmm.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’d like success on my own merits, not from connections.”

“Let’s call it networking, then.” He leaned down to kiss me. “Now, tell me about the rest of your day. Who else did you meet?”

We rambled on, back and forth about the rest of my day. About the horrible lunch, about how Chris had offered to make me lunch the night before; about the celebrity that threw a tantrum when I didn’t have a ready-made drawing of her, and made me sketch one start to finish while other business went walkabout.

As Chris pushed me toward the bedroom later that night he informed me that I’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, and that I had to finish my stories for him.

I told him he’d just have to come along to the next convention.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh! I forgot to tell you!” I blurted.

The farmer’s market swirled around us. Organic meat stands, home grown honey, local microbreweries, and various other people selling their wares under the notion that local and fresh is best. I couldn’t argue with them, except for maybe the prices of stuff.

“What happened?” Chris took my hand, pulling me to a stop in the middle of the footpath. The annoyed sighs of people filled the air around us as they pushed past, elbows on offer, letting us know how terribly rude we were.

“Remember the person I said I’d met at the convention last week?”

He looked at me dumbstruck. “Which one?”

“You know, the Strange one.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Because we talked about this at length. I was excited about it.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I dropped my hand from his. “Doctor Strange.”

“Oh!”

“Yeah, oh!” I repeated.

“So, what happened with him?”

“He sent an email at work and wanted to talk about getting a piece of art commissioned.”

“What type of art?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ve got a meeting with him Wednesday lunchtime.”

“One of those nice lunch meetings where you get taken out for lunch?”

“One of them.” I smiled.

 

**

I shuffled pens and rearranged items on my desk five, ten, fifteen times over. I still wasn’t happy with how things looked. Pencils, grey leads, sketch pads, and a wet wipe on the side of my hand to get rid of smudges. Again.

“Hey, Kincaide,” Jasper announced, pushing my office door open.

“Jasper.”

“Your lunchtime appointment is here.”

I stared at him blankly.

Butterflies.

Dry mouth.

Jasper took a few more steps into the room and pushed the door shut behind him.

“Shall I let him into your Sanctum Sanctorium?”

“Oh Jesus, you’ve been waiting all week for that, haven’t you?” I groaned.

I rounded my desk and closed the dusty aluminum blinds that rattled against the windows of my office, blocking out my visitor who sat patiently, legs crossed the ankles, and hands clasped in his lap.

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”

“Ask him if he wants a tea or coffee, Jas. I’ll be with him in a minute.”

Jasper disappeared, and I peeled two aluminum prongs apart to spy on them. Body language told me Ben was neither nervous, nor in a hurry. Jasper, on the other hand, was trying doubly hard to impress him, offer after offer of refreshment declined.

Collecting my wallet and phone, I pulled the office door open and left, walking toward reception and my guest.

“Hello.” I smiled, hand already outstretched in offer.

“Piper, good to see you again.” He shook my hand, warm and solid.

“Benedict.” I gave a curt nod. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Shall we?” I held the front door open. “Ever been to The Hop Poles?”

He smiled. “Once or twice.”

“Offended?”

“Not at all.”

**

I watched as he collected the first round of drinks. Wallet retrieved from his jacket pocket, a tenner handed over, change given and dropped into the pocket of jeans, wallet replaced, and two pints of ale made their way over to our small table, it’s surface sticky and well used.

“Long lunches a normal thing?” Benedict asked, shuffling around in his seat.

“No, God no. I’m sure I’ll get some special dispensation today,” I teased. “I’ll tell them it’s work related.”

“I’ll go buy some comics later today, how’s that?”

“Works for me,” I chuckled. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Lunch? Want to order?”

“Oh… sure… okay.” I accepted the menu on offer and buried my nose in it.

“You been painting long?”

“Sorry?”

“You been painting long?”

“Have you been acting long?”

Ben smiled. “Since I was a kid.”

“Impressive.” I answered. “Twelve.”

“Twelve what?”

“Since I was about twelve. My gran would paint, I’d watch her in her studio down the back of her yard, and it fascinated the shit out of me. I got myself a sketch pad and started drawing, and haven’t looked back since.”

“Well, for me… my parents… “

“I know.” I cut him off.

“Oh you do, do you?”

“Oh, trust me. I’m a female, in my twenties. I have girlfriends.”

“Girlfriends, or girl… friends?”

I smiled. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“I have a boyfriend,” I offered, strangely disappointed that I’d offered that information.

Benedict smiled.

“So,” I cleared my throat. “Mr. Cumberbatch.”

“Ben,” he smiled. “Ben is fine.”

“Good to know.” I shuffled a napkin around nervously. “So, this painting.”

“Yes.” He smiled, as if he’d remember the reason he was here.

“What are you looking for? You said commission.”

“Do you have some samples?”

“A folio?” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry, one of them.”

“Geez, you actors all think you’re so smart,” I teased. “I’ve got a lot of my stuff up on my website. Comic art, relaxation art, commission pieces, stuff currently for sale.”

“Oh, sure, okay.” Ben retrieved his wallet and picked through for the business card I’d given him the weekend prior. “Let dumb-arse me check, hmm?”

A waitress appeared and took our orders. I smiled, relaxed back into the chair and folded my arms over. Ben’s face changed minutely as he looked through the folio on my website.

“What do you charge per hour?” he asked.

“I’m really not sure when it comes to commission pieces,” I answered. “Depends on the size.”

“So, size matters, then?”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“Right, so size. Then…”

“Detail.”

“Detail?” He sucked his cheeks right in.

I snorted. “So, what do you want?’

“Something that fits nicely with the décor of the room.”

I nodded. “Got some photos of the room?”

“Well, it’s sort of the lounge, sort of the hallway.” He handed his phone over.

“Are you looking for abstract? Classic? Sexed up Monet? Sane Van Gogh?”

“I want your art, not a recreation of something.”

“You know,” I took a sip of beer, “I have an exhibition opening in a fortnight. Why don’t you come along? See if something suits?”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we can go from there.”


	3. Chapter 3

My eyes scanned the gallery, a small number in Brick Lane with polished floorboards and a clean finish. Paintings lined some walls, and a new section of portrait photography found its way into the back of the exhibition.

I looked around the room one more time, a glass of champagne in one hand, and snapping fingers the sign of nerves in the other.

“The room looks great.” I smiled at Cate, the curator. “Curator Cate.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s the oldest one in the book.”

“It does look great, though,” I offered. “Thank you.”

“Ten minutes to go. How are you feeling?”

“Nerves?”

“Naturally.”

**

People swilled around the room like cognac in a balloon glass. They looked, they discussed, I mingled, and a home rose through the venue; one that I hoped would result in sales. Chris was gorgeous; he’d donned a suit and tie in an effort to help out the caterers, who handed out trifles of food with exotic names far fancier than I could remember.

“My, Miss, these are beautiful paintings.”

My skin prickled, the heat of embarrassment creeping up my chest and neck toward my cheeks. “Thank you, Chris.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

He walked away, and I was spirited away to make a speech. The lectern hid far less of me than I was comfortable with. I could do the one-on-one stuff, that was easy and, often, a lot of fun. The public speaking, though? No thanks. I’d much rather have teeth pulled.

Surrounded by a mixed bag of onlookers, I spoke briefly about the work, some of the inspirations and meanings behind paintings. To be honest, some of them meant nothing; they just happened.

The front door of the gallery opened, and two figures slipped in. One male, one female. By the time they merged with the rest of the throng, I’d worked out that one of them was Ben, jacket pulled up around his ears and flat cap on. I assumed the girl next to him was his girlfriend.

I paused momentarily to collect my thoughts, eyes firmly fixed on him. His girlfriend automatically didn’t look happy; a frown set heavy on her face, she’d turned into him, her mouth rattling off. He put a hand up to stop her from talking, and that seemed to upset her more.

He scarfed a champagne flute from a passing waiter, and offered the empty vessel to the next one that came along. I finished off my speech and watched the crowds disperse, like billiards on a table. Ben went one way; girlfriend went the other. Straight out the front door. My first move was to the bathroom. The hard stuff done, I wanted five minutes alone before showing back up in the crowds.

“Did your boyfriend pose for any of these?”

I turned to my right. “Hello, Ben.”

“Hey.” His smile was weak, but it was a start. “How are you?”

“Glad the hard part is over,” I offered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, all good. Thank you.”

“Well, no, he didn’t,” I answered.

“Sorry?”

“My boyfriend. He’s not in any of these photos. He didn’t want the tackle on display, even if his head wasn’t shown.”

“Tell him to live a little, hey?”

“I’ll be sure to pass it on.” I picked a wine glass from a passing waiter. “So, anything you like?”

“Not entirely sure. I’ll take a look around and let you know.”

“Thanks for coming, I appreciate the support.”

“Anytime.”

**

**The London Express**

_September 14 th, 2015_

**BRICK LANE:** Art lovers came from far and wide for the opening of Piper Kincaide’s latest art exhibition on Friday past. More popularly known among the young set for her work with Hellraiser Comics, Kincaide, 30, is somewhat of an old face in art circles. Her first exhibition _A Day Like This_ sold out in just hours. With her mix of both abstract and classic methods, her new exhibition, titled _All’s Fair_ suffered a similar fate, with Benedict Cumberbatch among those keen to hang some new art in their homes.

For those wishing to catch the exhibition, you have until the end of the month. Changes Art Gallery, Brick Lane, London.

 

I dropped the paper on the table and looked across at Katie, my best friend. “There goes that.”

“There goes what?” She looked confused. “I don’t understand, you sold out, again.”

“…Benedict Cumberbatch among those keen to hang some new art…” I repeated.

“So? That’s a good thing. Massive exposure,” she reasoned, thanking the waiter with a silent nod as coffees arrived.

“I was hoping he’d want a custom piece.”

She smiled and leaned across the table. “And why would that be?”

“Have you seen him lately?”

“Uh-huh. I’d give him a custom piece, too,” she teased. “Seriously, what’s he like?”

“He’s nice enough,” I answered. “A bit intimidating, but lovely.”

“Intimidating, but lovely,” she mused. “Kind of like looking at your boyfriend when he says you need to have a talk.” She used her fingers as quotation marks. “I wouldn’t worry. He’s got your number, I’m sure he’ll pop up somewhere.”

“I shouldn’t worry. It was just business.”

“Anyway, how’s that beautiful Christopher? Is he keen to put a ring on it yet?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, we've laid a bit of groundwork... must be time to get to the good stuff, right?   
> Angsty-angsty! Enjoy!

“What do you mean you’re not available? It’s my family,” Chris argued.

“I’m sorry, I got an appointment request. We had nothing on, so I said yes.” I shrugged. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, but you’re spreading yourself so thin I hardly know where you are the past month.”

“I’m not going to turn down the work. It’s bringing in good money.”

“At what expense?” He snatched his house keys from the sideboard and crossed the floor.

“Chris, what the hell are you doing?”

“I need some space. I’m going out.”

“Where?”

“Does it matter?”

The door slammed behind him and I was left alone, a living room littered with empty canvases, unframed portraits, and paint supplies. I cleared off a table, placed a canvas on the easel, and cracked open some oils.

“Love writes a letter, and sends it to hate,” I sang along to The Avett Brothers. “My vacation’s ending. I’m coming home late.”

Chris returned home a few hours later, after I’d managed to frame a heap of prints, and splash a few colours on the canvas I was sat in front of. I didn’t know what it would be yet, but it looked like an angst ridden abstract thing; I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Get much done?” He sat on the couch next to me, offering me a beer.

“A bit,” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry.”

“This is what I’ve been working toward.” I looked at him. “The last fifteen years of my life, this is what it’s been for and, now it’s here, you don’t want a bar of it.”

“That’s not true.” He shook his head and looked away.

“It _is_ true. I’ve never skipped out on family stuff before, but I’m so excited that I finally can now, because it means we’ve got money coming through.”

“I know, and I’m proud of you. So, so proud, and I appreciate all the work you’ve put in. I’m just concerned it’s not sustainable.”

“Well, whether it’s sustainable or not, I’m going to take it while it comes.”

**

I stepped off the bus and pulled my coat collar up around my ears. The weather was ridiculously cold and wind whipped around my ears and neck. This side of town, the north-east, was far prettier than industrial Dagenham. I’m sure I looked like a stalker standing out front of his place, admiring the architecture.

“You’re early.” Ben pulled the front door open.

“Sorry, I’ll just get back on the bus and do laps,” I teased, “though I might be late by the time we get back around.”

“I’ll be gone by the time you get back around.” He waved me in the front door. “How are you?”

“I’m okay. You?”

“Just okay?” he queried.

“Yeah, exhausted.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Busy?” I followed him down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Busier than a one-armed bricklayer -.”

My laughter cut him off. “God, my dad says that all the time.”

“I take it he’s smart.”

“He can be.” I rocked back and forth on the heel of my feet.

“Drink? Tea, coffee, wine, gin, whiskey?”

“Is all of the above correct?” I tried.

“Ten points for the house.” He smiled, pulling a bottle of red from the fridge. “Not too early, is it?”

“Never.” I held my hand out for a glass. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” He closed the fridge door and walked off without saying anything.

“Ben?”

“Follow, follow.” His head appeared in the doorway and he waved a hand.

I stood in the hallway outside the main living room on the ground floor.

“A bare white wall.” I mused. “I could just paint straight onto the wall.”

“No,” he cringed. “I can’t take it with me when I move if you do that.”

“Damn.” I snapped my fingers. “Was hoping I could create double the work of myself.”

“You mean you’re not busy enough?”

“I should be very angry at you at the moment,” I teased.

“Me?” he smiled.

“Yeah, you.” I tipped my glass at him. “Skipping the first family lunch since I was fifteen is not acceptable apparently.”

“Fifteen? You’ve been with him fifteen years?”

“How do you know how old I am?”

“It was in the paper,” he whispered.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeated. “Now, Van Gogh, what are you painting for me?”

I laughed. “Van Gogh.”

“That’s what I’ve saved you as in my phone.”

“I’ll take that compliment.” I blushed. “Let’s have a look at this room.”

I turned and walked around the living room. Classic architecture, natural tones, and period fittings.

“What are you thinking?” Ben stood in the archway and watched.

“This is really good wine.”

“Refill?”

“Sure.” I passed the glass over.

Ben returned momentarily, more wine, and the bottle with just the dregs left. I stood in the archway looking between the blank wall and the living room.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I want to sit and look at the wall a bit.” I helped myself to the couch.

“Hang on, get off the couch a moment.” He waved me off the seat. “Let me do this.”

I stood back and watched as he placed his glass on the sideboard and pushed the couch around to face the hallway.

“What are you doing?” I laughed.

“You want to sit and look at the wall? Let’s sit and look at the wall.” He snatched back his glass, sat down and patted the seat next to him. “Let’s Gogh, Van.”

I felt ridiculously comfortable with him. It was disgusting.

“Goddamn this is comfortable.” I sank down into the cushion.

“Thank you.”

I swung my right leg over my left knee, at the same time Ben did. I smirked and said nothing.

“Seriously, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking something Turner-ish.”

“I fucking love Turner.”

“I mean you’ve got classic architecture, and period fittings; abstract would make no sense. Classic is soft. I like classic.”

“Are you classic or abstract?” he asked.

“Ever hang out at Tate?” I ignored him.

“Whenever I can.”

“Love it. Love the restaurant at Modern, but the art is better at Britain. Am I right?”

“High-five.” He held his hand up.

I placed my glass over on the sideboard and sank back into the couch. “I’ll try and fit you in around everything else. I don’t want to keep you too long.”

“I don’t mind so much. The wall’s been blank for years now.”

“Got a date in mind?”

“Nothing firm, just keep me in the loop.”

“I’ll need your number.”

“You don’t have it already?”

“Noooo,” I laughed.

“Right, give me your phone,” he demanded.

**

Chris looked up from the dining table as I walked through the front door. I didn’t say anything, dropping my bag on the floor, keys and wallet on the sideboard, and took a chair opposite him.

“How was lunch?”

“Good.” He nodded. “Mum says congratulations on the work.”

“Thank you.” I rubbed my mouth.

“Meeting go well?”

I nodded slowly. “Yep. All booked in, no rush, but I don’t want to keep him waiting too long.”

“Why, because he’s a celebrity?”

“No… well… yeah. Like you said, it’s great exposure. Imagine the people who’ll see that painting. Could be good marketing.”

Chris nodded. “What do you want from the future?”

“I want to be able to give up the comics and the paint full-time,” I answered. “The same thing I’ve wanted since we met in school. How about you?”

He rubbed his mouth, eyes set on the table. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Nope.” He shook his head.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?


	5. Chapter 5

My office looked like a bomb site. Sketches, print outs, comic covers and, now, my boss had decided it might be a great idea to get me making special edition prints for different sets of comic characters. Of course, they were selling out before we could even get the final proofs down to the printer, but I was getting ridiculously busy.

“Ever read a romance novel in comic form?” Jasper floated around the office.

“I have.”

“Did it work well?”

“Kind of like watching a rom-com. It was okay, actually. A full length book, and all, but it was good.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Jasper… come on.”

“I kind of had an idea, and thought it might work, that’s all.”

“So, tell me. We can pitch it to the boss. Who knows, might work.”

**

The lights of Piccadilly smeared red, blue, white, orange, and a multitude of other colours as rain pelted the windows of the pizza restaurant. Warm, cosy, and with the distinct yeasty smell of dough made for a comfortable night in.

Katie passed the bottle of wine across the table, and I held my glass out for her to pour. The bottle replaced on the table with a dull thud, and she crossed her arms in front of her and leaned into the table.

“So, what’s news?” she asked.

“Not a lot, really. A bit of this, a bit of that.”

“Where’s Chris?”

“Home, determined to finish his manuscript. I think he’s feeling a bit… sore at my new friendship.”

Glass held to her lips, she coughed. “With Ben? Does he have reason to be, though?”

“God no. Don’t be ridiculous. We’re both dating people.” I shook my head. “I want to photograph him, though, for my next series.”

“Nude?”

I snorted. “No, not doing nudes next time.”

“I’m disappointed,” she teased.

“There’s something else, though.”

“Oh Jesus, what is it?” She sat back in her seat, arms dropped at her sides.

I scratched the back of my head and leaned in to her. “Jasper came to me with an idea this afternoon. A romance graphic novel. The boss said we could work on it so long as all the other work got done.”

“Yeah, because wearing ten hats at once isn’t enough for you.”

She was right.

“Well, anyway,” I charged on. “I want to use Ben as a model for the male character.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“What?” I argued. “I can do the portraits, and use them for the character. I’ll ask him first.”

“I’m not touching it with a barge pole.”

“Neither am I.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “I’m going to text him and ask him.”

 

_Hey. Silly question. A few, actually. You free?_

_ Sure. Go for it.  _

_Fire off a few of your favourite things._

_ Classic London architecture. Christopher Wren style.  _

_Thank you, makes your painting easier._

_ Next? _

_Can I photograph you for my next exhibition?_

_ Nude? Sure.  _

_No, God, no, not nude, but thank you._

_ Genie grants three wishes, what’s the next question? _

_Working on a rom-com graphic novel._

_Need a model for the male character. Keen?_

_ I’m slightly embarrassed and flattered all at once.  _

_ Let’s meet and discuss that one.  _

_Sure thing. Let me know what you’re free._

_ Will do. Talk soon.  _

 

I looked up from my phone. “Easy done.”

**

District Line trains are a lot of fun, particularly heading out to Becontree Station. The carriage rocked, swayed, and turned on the rails as I made my way home. We were only a short walk down Rusper Road, a quick bounce up the stairs, and I was shoving my key in the lock and letting myself in.

Near to midnight, the house was dark; the glow of Chris’s laptop throwing a blue hue across one corner of the room. I used that to my advantage, tiptoeing across the flat, through to the bathroom, and back to bed. All without disturbing him.

“Hey.” Chris rolled over as I snuck in under the covers.

“Hey, you.” I cuddled into his back. “How’d you go?”

“Good. I’m almost there.”

“Well done, I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” he yawned. “Go out for lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I buried my head in the pillow and went to sleep.

**

I come from a huge family. I’ve got two brothers and one sister, and they’re all older than me, and they’ve all bred like it’s going out of fashion. I spent at least two weekends a month shopping for birthday presents. The Sunday afternoon saw me at my nephew Finn’s birthday party.

“Where’s Chris?” Paige asked. “It’s not like him to not come along.”

“He’s either at home working or sulking.”

“Sulking? About what? People buying up a fortune of your artwork?”

“Basically, yes. It’s taking me away from the relationship, or so I’m told.”

We were interrupted by my niece, Charlotte, keen to impart her handmade gift to me.

“Wow, that is stunningly beautiful,” I played, taking a bracelet from her.

“I made it with rubber bands,” she announced proudly, her little chest puffed out and grubby face full of smile and cake.

“It’s spectacular.” I wound it onto my wrist, silently cursing every time the rubber bands got caught and tried to rip the fine little hairs out of the back of my hand.

“It suits you, sis,” Paige teased, walking past.

“Matches your eyes.” Her husband, Pottsy, raised his glass.

“Yes, I can see where you’d get that, fluoro greens, yellows, and oranges, yes.” I nodded.

“Have you had birthday cake yet?” Finnegan brought me over another plate.

“I have, Finn, thank you.”

“Have some more, I don’t want to take it home on the train,” Molly called after him.

We’d set up a picnic lunch at Richmond Park. For the most part the kids were fascinated with the deer and squirrels that ran riot.

For the other part? They were intent on making my Instagram feed look like I had four hundred kids, rubber band bracelets, and pasta necklaces at thirty paces.

Even the two-year-old knew what selfies were. Perched in my lap, Martin held my phone out in front of his face and waited for something to happen.

Instead of taking a photo, my phone started ringing. Before I could so much as blink, Martin had run off with the phone, swiped the phone call open, and was talking at a million miles an hour. The only problem was his version of talking wasn’t something recognised by anyone outside his immediate family.

Paige cut him off at the turn, and collected my phone.

“Hello.” She smiled down the line. “I’m sorry, that was my son… no, no, I’m Paige, her sister… thank you, I’ll just get her for you.”

I held my hand out to take the phone.

“No way,” she laughed. “Firstly, who’s Ben?”

“Don’t know a Ben.” I shrugged.

“You are the world’s shittiest liar,” she announced. “Tell me. Now. There’s nothing going on with Chris, is there?”

“Don’t be daft. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just give me my phone.” I snatched it back. “Hello?”

My heart pounded in my chest, bloody nerves taking over, as I waited for a response.

“That’s not very nice.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

“I don’t know a Ben,” he teased.

“I don’t.” I smiled.

“Harsh. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”

“Good. Just having a break at the moment.”

“You’re at work? On a Sunday?”

“Theatre rehearsals.”

“Oh, right. Okay.”

I had no fucking idea. Keeping up with his work schedule was not something that interested me. I hardly knew half the things he’d been in, to be perfectly honest.

“I was just thinking you might have a few minutes’ spare for a chat, but it sounds like you’re busy entertaining.”

I smiled. “My nephew’s fifth birthday.”

“Not the one on the phone?”

“No, I come from a family of prolific breeders,” I joked. “There’s more than a few kids around here today.”

“Busy!”

“Yeah, they have been, apparently.”

“Maybe I should call back later?”

“Hang on, just a second.” I looked at Charlotte, who was running at me a million miles an hour.

“Aunty Pipe, can we sleep over tonight?”

Far out, another fucking interruption. I think I groaned in frustration; I could hear Ben laughing down the line.

“Sweetie, you know there’s not enough room at my place for sleepovers.”

“Can you stay at our place, then?”

“Charlie, I can’t. I’ve got stuff on tonight. Maybe another weekend, okay?”

She pouted, but at least she ran off.

“Sorry.” I returned to my phone call. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s on tonight, then?”

“Pipe, can we have a hand over here? The rain’s coming, we’re packing up!” Molly called.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I grumbled, cupping my hand over the receiver. “I’m on the fucking phone, you lot!” I turned my attention back to my phone. “Can we maybe do this later? I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s alright. I have to go anyway, break’s over.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Piper, I promise it’s okay,” he chuckled. “Maybe we need to just set aside a day when neither of us are busy.”

“Do you have those days, do you?” I walked away from the group and waved my hands at anyone that came near. “Oh fuck off already. I’m coming.”

Ben laughed loudly. “This sounds too much like my family gatherings.”

“I tell you. I’m looking forward to work so as I can get away from this shit. I love them dearly, don’t get me wrong, but fucking hell.”

“No, no, I know. Look, I’ll let you go. Can I call during the week?”

“Sure. Okay, whatever,” I answered.

“Goodbye, Piper.”

“Yeah, see ya.” I answered, closing the phone on him.

Instantly, I was lugged with a baby, its bags, and its pram. For a boy it sure took a lot of trash with it wherever it went.

“You’ve got a bigger handbag than me, and you can’t even sit up yet,” I mumbled, starting the soggy walk over to the car.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” I swatted Ben’s hand away from my bowl of chips. “Get out, you bloody seagull.”

“Well, talk to me then. You called me, remember?” He sat back and folded his hands.

“How’s work?”

“Come on, you didn’t ask me here to talk shop, did you?” he chuckled.

“Actually I did.” I reached into my satchel bag. “This is a synopsis for the comic book I’ve been given to work on.”

“Oh, that thing you mentioned in the text the other day, sure.” He snatched the papers from my hand enthusiastically and flicked through them, a lone hand reaching out to steal more chips.

“Haven’t you eaten today?” I pushed the bowl toward him. “Here, have them.”

“I’ve been busy,” he mumbled. “How have you been?”

“Flat out, really.”

“Yeah? What’ve you been doing?” He looked up.

“A bit of this, a bit of that.”

“Bit of birthday cake.” He smiled into the paper.

“A bit of that, yes.” I leaned forward into the table, clutching at my elbows. “What do you think?”

He pushed the papers back toward me and scanned my face. I felt for certain that he’d tell me no, and my skin was prickling with embarrassment already.

“Here’s the thing,” he started.

“No, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” I shuffled the papers and almost poured them back into my satchel. “I’m sorry, it was too forward of me to ask.”

I was fumbling with my wallet, looking for a tenner when he reached across and snatched my hand, holding it steady. My eyes flashed up to meet his, a smirk already tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes crinkled up, and dimples threatening to create a black hole around any semblance of common sense I had left.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.

“Uh… leaving?” I offered.

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to say no?” I tried.

“You know that, do you?”

“Well, no, but you gave me that look.”

“What look?”

“It doesn’t matter, it’s okay. It was stupid -.”

“Piper, will you shut up for just five minutes and let me speak?” His hand was still wrapped around mine.

“Sure.”

I sat back down and he let go of my hand, a waitress zooming past like her life depended on it; bowl and empty glasses taken in just enough time to facilitate the quickest of table wipe downs. We both grimaced at the sticky residue left behind.

“What I was going to say was that we can do this, but if we go through my ‘people’ it’ll get tied up in red tape and rigmarole. So, I won’t endorse it officially, but if anyone asks then you can say you modelled the character on me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You don’t mind?”

He shrugged. “It’s all a bit of fun, isn’t it? Helps you out.”

“Where’d you hang your painting?” I asked.

“What one?”

“The one you bought at the gallery.”

“Oh, that one. I gave it to mum.”

“Tough audience?”

“No, she loved it.”

“That’s a wonderful compliment, thank you.”

“No problem at all.” He looked around like he was waiting for someone. “The portraits you were talking about…”

“I was thinking about them, and I think it would be a good idea to do them before I work on the comic.”

“You do?”

“Well, I can take a number of different photos and use them as reference points.”

“Sounds like a well thought out plan.”

“Only slightly,” I answered. “And no nudes.” I pointed.

“Hey, I don’t mind. I’ve done it for theatre, I’ve done it for film. I think half of London’s seen it, so, you know.”

Yeah, not me, though.

“Okay, right. Let’s book in a date, shall we?” I pulled my diary from my bag and waited for an answer.

**

Looking out across the Thames, toward St Paul’s, and I had all the inspiration I needed for Ben’s painting. Carrying a camera everywhere is something that had become a habit. It had started on a holiday a few years ago, and was something that stuck around when we got home. I loved that I was ready to capture happy, sad, and in between moments, as well as the completely crazy stuff.

“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Chris asked, watching me snap a few photos.

“It’s just relaxing. Can we get the river taxi after lunch?” I countered.

“Of course. Want to pop over to Tate Britain?”

We were in the Level 6 restaurant at Tate Modern. We didn’t splash out often, but my sales boom recently saw a tidy sum of cash leftover for the month, and I thought it might be nice to treat Chris. After all, he’d put up with significantly less of me in the past few weeks.

I smiled. “I’d love that, actually.”

“What’re the photos for?” he asked.

“Oh, a painting I need to get started on.”

He gave me that smile that said he was happy, but a little bit annoyed by it all. I let it slide.

“Do you think you’ll slow down when we have kids?” he asked.

“Are we having kids?” I frowned.

“One day, sure. Don’t you want to?”

I nodded. “I’d like to be married first.”

“Oh.” He fished through his jacket pocket. “Good thing I bought this with me, then.”

The world stopped spinning, I was sure of it, and I couldn’t work out if he was serious. But, given he was on one knee less than thirty seconds later, I figured he might not have been taking the piss.

“Piper, I have had the immense pleasure of being your neighbour, and then your friend, then your best friend, and your boyfriend I’d love to continue that by upcycling to fiancé. I love you, and adore you, and I am so disgustingly proud of you. Will you marry me?”

I blinked a few times, eyes starting to float in our direction, well aware it was taking me longer than the split second it should have taken me to answer.

“Please?”

I nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to, it’s a bit embarrassing, but it’s okay.”

“I’m sure,” I answered.


	7. Chapter 7

A sea of faces surrounded me, representing every corner of my life. There were family, all dressed in their best clothes, friends who kept a smart, casual pace, and the art crowd who let their bohemian flow freely.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Dad announced. “Piper and Christopher.”

Everyone charged their glasses; champagne, soft drink, wine, spirits, whatever took the fancy of the individual reveller at my engagement party.

I was numb. For some reason unknown to me, it hadn’t sunk in yet. There were hugs, kisses, congratulations, lacklustre sex, and cards spread from one end of our flat to the other. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the ride, so I went along with it, sure that I was just exhausted and that I would perk up when things got quieter.

**

I flipped over the card attached to the ridiculously bright flowers that now sat on my office desk.

_Congratulations_ , they offered.

No name, nothing else, just congratulations. Someone was feeling more positive about the whole situation than I was. Since the ‘announcement’, I’d been flooded with people wanting to know about bridesmaid’s positions, groomsmen roles, and the all-important date we should have already locked in.

Chris’s change in attitude had been marked, and noticeable. We went from arguing about the amount of work I was doing, to him wanting to lock down a date, talk terms and conditions, and hinting that I should “slow down” once we were married.

At this point in time, I was earning about seventy percent of the money in the relationship, so that idea was just ridiculous.

In short, I felt trapped.

**

“I love these concept sketches,” Rich looked up at me. Rich was my boss and, if he loved them, it was all good.

“I’ve just been working on them in my spare time,” I answered. “Everything else is getting done.”

“That’s not a concern. You know your workload,” he answered. “I trust you.”

“I’ve actually modelled the male on Cumberbatch.”

“Who?”

“The actor -.”

“Oh, the one that bought your painting, yes, Sherlock Holmes.” He stubbed a cigarette out and blew smoke up toward the sky. “I like them. Continue.” He walked away, leaving me on the roof of the building.

I dawdled back to my office to find my phone ringing.

“Van Gogh, are you around?” Ben started before I could get a word in.

I smiled ridiculously. “Like a record.”

“Good, need a favour.”

“Sure. Hit me.”

“I would, but you might like it.”

“Likely,” I answered. “What can I do for you.”

“Need to get out of a spot of trouble. Got any paintings spare?”

“Yeah, there’s a few at home. Want one?”

“What have you got? Can I come pick through them? I need a get out of jail present.”

“Okay, so you kind of want light and fluffy. I think there are a few there. I’m tipping dark and stabby isn’t on the menu?”

“I’m feeling a bit stabby, to be perfectly honest.”

I snorted. “What have you done?”

“You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Ahhh, no.”

“Get your Google-fu on, text me your address, I’ll be there at eight tonight. Gotta go, Van.”

“Bye.” I answered to a dial tone, Ben already long gone.

**

I threw the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, and ran around tidying up the rest of the flat. I tossed a sheet over the painting I was working on, Bens, stacked the ready to sell paintings against the wall, and hid a whole heap of sketches that littered the living area. I pulled the duvet up over the mangled bed; a disadvantage of open plan living was having your bed on display for everyone.

“What are you doing?” Chris sat hunched over at his small computer desk.

“Just tidying up.”

“You don’t tidy up for people you know, let alone ones you don’t.”

“I’d like to present a neat workspace,” I answered. “These are clients.”

“I’m not having a dig, it’s just an observation.”

“You’ve been making a lot of observations, lately.” I pulled the front door open. “Hello.”

It was a much more serious Ben that I was presented with.

“Rachel, you remember… Jesus…” he snapped his fingers. “Piper. I keep thinking Van Gogh.”

“Hi, Rachel. I’m not sure we met properly last time?” I shook her hand and let them both in.

“Wow. Tiny,” She commented.

Well, I couldn’t argue with her there. Our place was tiny, and that was made more obvious by the fact we’d now doubled its inhabitants.

“Ben, Rachel, this is Christopher.”

He closed the gap quickly, from his desk to Ben in a matter of moments. “Hello.” They shook hands. “I’m Piper’s fiancé.”

“Fancy,” Ben teased. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, my eyes darting around the room, knowing that his eyes hadn’t left me. “So, you’re after a painting?”

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise Rach with one, just because, but figured she might like to pick it out for herself.”

I wasn’t sure he could actually ham it up anymore if he tried. He reminded me far too much of myself over the past few weeks, and it scared me. I hoped I didn’t look like that to people around me.

I directed Rachel’s attention to a stack of a dozen or so smaller paintings leaned up against the wall. “This what’s left.”

“From what?” she asked.

“Well, the exhibition the other week was all but sold out. There’s maybe one left from that, and a few more little things I’ve thrown together since.”

“Which is the one left from the exhibition?” She wasn’t entirely gentle as she flicked through the canvases.

“Be careful, Rach, I don’t want to have to pay for all of them when you put holes in them,” Ben offered.

“Thank you,” I mouthed. “Ah, City at Night is the left over. I guess everyone’s seen the Gherkin painted at night a thousand times.” I pulled the offending painting from the mix.

“I’ll take it.”

It struck me then that she had no interest in the painting other than the ability to say that she’d purchased one that was in the exhibition. I’d learned to spot her type a mile off, and couldn’t work out what Ben saw in her.

“It’s yours, then.” I nodded.

Chris stood around like a dummy, hovering. I shrugged off the arm he tried to put around my shoulder and switched the kettle on.

“How much do I owe you?” Ben opened his wallet.

“I had two hundred quid on it at the exhibition.”

He pulled a few notes out and handed them over. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to, it’s okay, I’ll work it into -.”

“No, it’s fine.” Ben cut me off. “Now, do we still have a dinner engagement?”

“We do, thank you, Paige.” Rachel turned and left.

“Paige?” I mouthed at Ben.

“Thanks, Piper. I’ll give you a call in the next few days,” he called, Rachel dragging him out of the flat with the hand he had spare.

“Odd couple,” Chris commented.

Took one to know one, I guessed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos so far. It's wonderful to see the feedback, and I'd love for your to keep it up! Hope you're still enjoying it :)

Victoria Embankment, squeezed into the outdoor recliners, the sun shining in an uncharacteristically late show of autumn sunshine. We’d stopped on The Strand for lunch, and had grabbed a Starbucks on the way through the park.

“Can we talk?” Chris asked.

I rolled my head to my right and opened my eyes. “Of course.”

“I’m jealous.”

I frowned. “Of what?”

“Him.”

“Who’s him?”

“I think you know who.”

“I want you to say it, though.”

“Benedict.”

“Why?”

“You’re spending a lot of time with him.”

“It’s not as much as you’d like to think,” I answered. “I met him at Comic Con, spoke to him for five minutes on opening night, I quoted him up for his painting, and we’ve had lunch once after that. At that lunch I asked if I could model a comic character after him. There’s nothing sinister going on.”

“I saw how he looked at you when he came over last week.”

“How did he look at me?” I asked.

“He likes you.”

“I’d hope he likes me; he’s paying me a fortune to throw paint on a canvas.”

“I don’t mean like that.”

“I don’t actually think that’s your problem,” I disagreed, looking around the park. “I think it has more to do with my work, and your lack of work.”

“That, too.”

“I’m not slowing down once we’re married. I’m going to continue doing what I’m doing. If that doesn’t work for you, then maybe we need to reassess our whole situation.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean we shouldn’t get married,” I answered.

“You don’t want to get married?”

“I do, but if your jealousy is going to impact on my happiness, then I don’t think we should.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“And my work makes me happy.”

“I’m trying to explain to you how I feel,” he argued. “And all you’re doing is telling me why I’m wrong.”

“I’m telling you why I think you’re jealous, because you’re wrapping it up in an excuse that’s of no threat to you.”

“Of course he’s a threat.”

“He’s got a girlfriend, you idiot,” I laughed.

“I love you, Pipe, you know that.”

“I love you,” I answered. “But I really need you to be supportive. Invites to San Diego ComicCon are coming out this week. If I get one, I want to go.”

Chris nodded. “I’m not winning this one, am I?”

“It’s not about winning.”

**

Monday was ridiculously busy, I’d missed one final drawing for a deadline, so I spent the most of the morning trying to sort that out and placate people; a last minute reprieve granted by the printer so, when I submitted that drawing at 11:30 a.m., I’d only just made the midday cut-off.

Jasper came swanning into my office shortly after. “Good save, beautiful. And speaking of which, you’ve got a phone call.”

“My line wasn’t flashing?”

“No, he called while you were at the printer, so I intercepted. Plus, I wanted to talk to him.”

“Chris?”

“Your other boyfriend.”

“I don’t have another boyfriend.”

“Ben,” he whispered. “Line four.”

I watched Jasper gloat as he disappeared out of the room in the same swirl of happiness he’d floated in with. Line four was indeed flashing red, and I debated whether or not to answer it. On one hand, it would drive Chris nuts if I said I’d spoken to Ben again. On the other, I could be friends with whomever I pleased.

“Hang it,” I mumbled, picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Are you free for lunch?”

“Sorry?”

“I need advice.”

“Advice?”

“You’re impartial. I need an impartial ear.”

“How do you figure I’m impartial?” I asked.

“Well, we don’t know each other that well, do we?”

I shrugged, not that he could see. “I guess.”

“I need some advice. I’m just finishing up at the theatre. Pick you up in thirty?”

“Okay sure.”

“You alright?” he asked.

“I kind of need an impartial ear, too.”

**

The Hop Poles was beginning to look like our place of choice when we met for lunch; scary to think lunching together was becoming a thing. I enjoyed it, though. He was fresh company, and a nice distraction after the morning I’d had.

“Talk to me.” I sat the menu back up against the wall to my left. “What’s wrong?”

“Rachel.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m the best to give advice like that at the moment,” I answered, playing with the hem of my t-shirt.

“She thinks I’m cheating on her.”

“Are you?” I asked.

Ben sat back in the chair. “Do I look like someone that cheats?”

“I don’t know you well enough to know that.” I looked up at him. “But, for what it’s worth, Chris thinks I’m sleeping with you.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Not at all,” I scoffed.

“Why would he think that?”

“I think it has much less to do with you, and everything to do with the fact that people are now actually buying my work. You just happen to be a nice by-product of that.”

“I’m a nice by-product?” He smiled.

“Well, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise, so you do kind of do fall into that category,” I chuckled. “It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re here for you. What’s Rachel’s problem?”

“Like I said, she thinks I’m cheating on her. There was some photos last week of me leaving a nightclub with other women. The men of the group were in front of us, the paps picked me up behind the group and, suddenly, it’s a scandal.”

“If she doesn’t want to believe anything else, you won’t be able to convince her.”

“Same goes for Chris, right?”

I nodded. “Same goes for him.”

“So, I don’t know where to go right now.”

“How so?” I asked.

“I’m thinking of ending it.”

“I don’t feel comfortable giving advice on that.”

He nodded. “You’re really not okay, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Do you want to get married?”

“I don’t know.”

“Probably shouldn’t have said yes, then,” he teased.

I laughed, wiping my eye with the heel of my hand. “The bastard cornered me in a full restaurant. What the hell was I supposed to say?”

“Not cool.”

“How would you have done it?”

“Me?” he asked. “Very quietly, very privately, and I’d keep it to myself for a little while, first.”

“I like that.”

“There’s a freedom in keeping secrets,” he offered. “Try it.”

“Did you get an invite to Comic Con?” I changed topic.

“Are you kidding? I have to go there. I don’t have a choice. You?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check your phone.” He waved his hands at me. “Hurry up.”

Chris had been trying to call me, a number of missed calls from his number. I ignored them and went straight to my emails and opened the one I needed. A smile spread across my face.

“I got an invite.”

“High-five.” Ben held up his hand. “Travelling solo?”

“I think I will. Might take a mini-break while I’m there.” I looked down at my phone, ringing silently in my hand. “Do you mind?”

“Go for it.” He saw that as an excuse to get his own phone out and go through his messages.

“Hey, Rich,” I answered.

“What time are you back in the office?”

“What time can I be back?”

“We’ve got a two o’clock meeting. New clients looking at us for their comic. Your folio up to date?”

“Sure is. I’ll see you at quarter to?”

“Just don’t smell like lager?”

“Will do. Thanks, boss.”

Ben laughed. “You’ve got until two?”

“Yep.” I smiled. “So, tell me, what do you plan on doing about your situation?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I really don’t.”

“Checkmate, huh?”

We sat back and looked at each other, smiling stupidly.

“We’re a pack of idiots,” he answered. “The both of us.”

“When does your play open?” I asked.

“Hey?”

“My Google-fu got a workout. When does your play open?”

“Four weeks.” His eyes widened.

“I want tickets.”

“Two?”

“Four. I might make it a girls’ night out.”

“Four? I’ll see what I can do. I might know someone backstage I can sleep with, or something.”

I buried my face in my hands and laughed riotously for the first time in weeks, and it felt wonderful.

By the Friday afternoon I had four tickets sitting on my work desk, with a note that Ben was out of town, the cast rehearsing outside of London for the next month. The next time I would see him would be on stage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've taken the liberty of making up a television series, and a co-star for this chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy xo

“Do you think you could get us tickets?” Alice slid a magazine across the table to me.

“For what? I already got you tickets to the play”

“Read!” she giggled.

“Benedict Cumberbatch scheduled to appear at London Film and Comic Convention,” I read aloud. “Not likely. That’s stretching the friendship a bit.”

“Can you try?”

“When is it?” I laughed.

“Doesn’t matter.” Candice waved her hand. “Give me the website, I’ll buy tickets now. You want to come with us?” She looked at me.

“Not really.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Nah, I’ve got stuff on.”

“What stuff? Feed the cat? Live a little, I’ll shout you a ticket. We can get a group photo with him.”

Sweet Jesus help me now. Honestly. I loved these two girls, but they did my fucking head in. We didn’t own a television, and hadn’t for a while; the fee spent on the licence was just an extra bit of cash in pocket as far as I was concerned, so I cancelled my licence and got rid of it.

No doubt I’d get done for illegal downloads, but whatever.

“When is it?” I asked.

“This weekend, Saturday and Sunday. I bought Saturday tickets.”

“Awesome,” I chirped.

“Live a little. He’s hot. Have you watched season one of _CounterShock_ yet?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Why?”

“Because nudity.”

I did not need to see that. Okay, maybe I did, but curiosity killed the cat, and I wasn’t keen on looking him in the eye after copping an eyeful of, well, that.

“Right. Autographs at ten a.m., photographs start after lunch at two p.m., and there’s a _CounterShock_ Q &A panel at four. I want a Cumberbatch and a Thomas Dexter photo.”

“That would be a right sandwich, wouldn’t it?” Alice smiled.

Would it ever.

“Couple of decent pickles in the middle,” Candice laughed into her glass.

“Oh God,” I chuckled. “I’ve gotta get going. I start at six in the morning, got some major projects going on.”

“Shit, that sucks.”

“Big time,” I agreed. “Can someone text me the details for Saturday?”

“Are you actually going to turn up?”

“I can’t very well not go, you’ve paid for a ticket, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes I have.” Candice smiled.

“Right, see you ladies there.”

With the obligatory hug and kiss, I grabbed my coat and headed towards Piccadilly Circus. The thing I loved about Piccadilly was that it was never empty, never quiet, and never, ever dark. The billboards lit up the sky a multitude of colours. I’d never seen Times Square in New York but, seriously, who needed it?

Down the stairs, and escalators, and I had three minutes until the next train.

“Hello, Miss.”

I smiled without even looking up from my phone. “Hello.”

“Are you well tonight?”

“I am. You?”

“Very well thank you. What brings you to this part of town?”

“A few cheeky drinks with the girls.”

I looked up to find Ben in jeans and a polo, duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“How about you?”

“Rehearsals. Thought I’d take a walk up through the lights before going home.”

“Now, see, good choice. You’d not have seen me had you not made that decision,” I teased.

“I like your thinking.”

“I thought you were out of town for a while?”

“Final week of rehearsals are being done on the stage,” he offered. “Just keeping a low profile.”

His voice was drowned out by the roar of the approaching train. Passengers alighted and we climbed aboard the cramped carriage, stuffed in the back corner like some oddly paired sardines. Better yet, like two awkward teenagers at a dance who weren’t quite sure what their bodies were good for yet.

I gripped the handrail above my head as the train shuddered and jerked into life. The gap was minded, we’d stood well clear, and the train departed.

“What stop?”

“King’s Cross. You?”

“King’s Cross.”

With our faces barely inches from each other, his imbalance got the better of him, and he reached for the handrail, the brush of skin against skin enough to have me looking for a seat.

No.

No seats.

Peak hour on the Sardine Express.

At least he had delicious smelling deodorant.

“How are rehearsals?” God, talk to me about anything other than the fact that we’re standing close enough to bone without anyone noticing.

Ben smiled. “They’re going well. You should come along.”

“I got the tickets, thank you. Rude of me not to call sooner.”

“It’s completely okay,” he answered. “Told you I’d save you a seat.”

That was all it took to break the tension, all be it sexual tension. A smiled turned to laughter, turned to a hand placed atop of mine on the handrail. He gave my index finger a gentle squeeze.

“I’m looking forward to a night out, actually, it’ll be nice.”

With more people alighting the train, I was given room to breathe and took the opportunity to rest on those weird little half seat things at the rear of the carriage. I patted what was left for Ben to sit next to me.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” He leaned in to my ear.

I smiled, the view of my feet fantastically enthralling at this point in time. “No.”

“No?”

“No.” I looked at him.

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

“Of course… maybe.”

_This is King’s Cross St. Pancras._

_Change here for the Victoria, Northern, Hammersmith & City, Metropolitan and National & International Rail Services._

I pushed away from the seat. “Hammersmith is me.”

“What’s this maybe shit?” Ben picked his bag up off the floor and followed me out of the carriage.

Pedestrian traffic swirled around us. Heads bobbed and swung around, unsure if they were looking at who they thought they were looking at. Heels smacked on the ground, and trolleys rolled across the broken lines of the tiled floor.

“Will you be around tomorrow? I thought I’d send you some pictures of your painting?”

It was his turn to look at his shoes now. “No. I’ve got a photoshoot in the morning, followed by interviews, a press call, and then another rehearsal.”

“I’ll see you Saturday, then?” I smiled and made my way to the stairs.

“Wait, what?” A frown eventually gave way to a smile of realisation. “Oh, you are not serious?”

“Oh, I’m very serious, sir.” I pouted.

“Don’t you pout at me.” He raised a finger in warning, his lips a flat line and eyes wide.

I laughed. “I didn’t buy the tickets. I’m accompanying a friend.”

“She as cute as you?” he called after me.

I stopped at the top of the stairs. “Hardly!”

“Good night, Piper Kincaide!”

“Good night!” I shouted after him, running up the stairs looking for Platform 3.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**London Express**

_November 13 th, 2015_

**DOWN ON HIS CUMBERLUCK:** Though his brigade of Cumber…er… fans might not feel the same way, it’s been revealed very quietly this week that Benedict Cumberbatch has split from girlfriend Rachel Lewellan. If rumours about town are to believed, Rachel was less than fond of his burgeoning friendship with London based artist Piper Kincaide. Representatives for both Cumberbatch and Kincaide could not be reached for comment.

 

Chris threw the newspaper down on the dining table and looked at me, surrounded by my entire family. It was Friday night dinner at my parents’ house, and we’d not quite cleared the plates.

“What about that?”

“What about it?” I asked, staring at my plate, and shoving the last of an almost cold potato in my mouth.

“Any truth to it?” Mum asked.

“That we’re friends? Yes.” I nodded.

Paige fanned herself. “You are shitting me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“What about what they’re inferring?” Dad probed.

I shook my head. “No truth to that, despite what Chris, and the media, might try and have you believe. He’s a good friend, we’ve hung out a few times. I’m currently painting a piece on commission for him -.”

“Is he paying well?” Pottsy asked.

“He’s paying what he was quoted.” I never divulged what people paid for commission pieces. Some I’d done on the cheaper end of the scale, some on the pricier end. It depended on a number of factors, none of which were up for discussion.

Chris pushed some food around his plate. “Well, if she says nothing’s going on.”

“Oh, come on! It’s media hype, nothing more. I’ll get a few more sales from it.”

“Where are you going tomorrow?” he asked. “Alice, and Candice, and yourself. Where are you going?”

I sighed heavily. “London Film and Comic Convention. Alice and Candice wanted to go and they figure, wrongly, that I have some sort of pull with him.”

“So you’re not dating him…” Pottsy started.

“How can I be dating him?” I shouted. “I’m engaged to Chris!”

“Alright, calm down,” Dad hushed.

“Can you get me some autographs?” Paige looked at me. “For the kids, of course.”

**

I hate people.

I hate crowds.

Especially large, loud crowds.

Yet, there I was at ten a.m. Saturday morning standing in a queue of hundreds, lining up with my friends to get the autograph of someone who I had access to simply by picking up my phone and dialling one of the first numbers in the address book.

Is that irony?

I think it was.

“You know, I feel like an idiot,” I mumbled to Alice.

“What? Why? It’s Commander Jax, are you kidding?”

She was decked out in her CounterShock t-shirt, which made me laugh and cringe all at the same time. Not that I was much better, I had four Commander Jax dolls in my arms, each of them decorated with a Post It Note bearing the name of one of my nephews.

Talking to Paige the night before, she’d dropped everything, wrangled some extra cash, and begged me to get my other nephews, Finn and James, both an autographed doll, along with her two boys, Nathan and Martin.

Still, I felt like a right fool. I’m sure if I’d asked nicely enough I could have done this down at the Hop Poles, or in my living room, or in _his_ living room.

There were young girls all around us, and I was likely old enough to be mother to some of them. It made me feel all kinds of odd. A few of the girls closer to the start of the line were crying and hyperventilating.

“Those poor girls,” Candice commented.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” I mumbled. “This is so ridiculous.”

“Why? It’s just an autograph and a photo?” Candice looked at me. “And you look cute as.”

I snorted, remembering the comment at King’s Cross the other night, and shuffled a bit further forward in the queue. I kept to the back of our group, for no reason other than I wanted the girls to have walked off by the time I got to Ben.

No such luck.

_Oh God, I love your work._

_So lovely to meet you._

_This is so exciting._

_I can’t believe it’s you._

_Wow._

_This is intense._

I stood back in my spot, waiting, Ben’s eyes flitting over to me, then back to Candice as she kept going with the compliments. I couldn’t fault him, though, thoroughly gracious and polite as he dealt with them and their utter fangirling.

I’m not saying I’m beyond fangirling, or that I’m better than them, because I’m not, but I’d spent enough time with him to know that he was no different to any of us. He had to dress himself, he had to pay his own bills, and he certainly had to wash himself.

“Hello.” Ben smiled as I approached.

“Hello,” I answered, dropping my booty of dolls on the table in front of him.

“Lovely to meet you.”

Okay, so we were playing that game.

“And you, also,” I answered.

“So, which one are you? Finnegan, James, Nathan, or Martin?” He looked up from his place.

“I’m Piper.” I was sure I looked confused.

“Beautiful name.” He grinned, scrawling on the first of the dolls.

“Thank you,” I spluttered.

Is it possible to love and hate someone at the same time? I wanted to laugh in his face, but could feel the eyes of my friends burning into me like a tripod from _War of the Worlds_. Just waiting for the red weed to hit.

“Are you here all day today… Piper?”

“I believe so, yes. Photos later and then a panel,”

“Good. Good.”

My eyes followed his hands as he gathered the Post It Notes, scribbled on the back of them, and thrust the pile back into my hand.

“Show no one.” He smiled. “And these are yours. Thank you so much for playing today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“That has quite a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

I smiled, shook my head, and walked away.

“What on Earth was that about?” Alice smiled as I approached.

“What was what about?”

“Oh God, don’t try deadpan face with us.” Candice teased. “Lovely name, Piper.”

“I do believe the term he used was ‘beautiful’,” I played.

“Are you here all day today, Piper?” Alice mimicked.

The safety of a toilet cubicle allowed me to finally pull the wad of paper out of my pocket.

_Lunch. 12.30pm. Green Room._

_Ground floor._

_Name’s on the door._

_Alone?_

There was no way I was going to be able to get rid of the girls before lunch and I fired off a text message to that effect. And slip into the private dining room unnoticed? Impossible. It was a pop culture expo, teeming with celebrities and their fans.

Someone.

Somewhere.

Will always notice.

Querying my name was enough to throw the girls off of the idea that we had this long standing friendship that I apparently refused to tell them about, so five points to Ben for throwing in those questions.

That was, until we got to the photo sessions in the afternoon. Again with the huge lines, though much more subdued than with the morning sessions. Food tends to have that magical, calming effect.

Like the shunting yard at the train depot, we were soon being pushed behind a black curtain and into a photo booth.

“Ladies, welcome back.”

“Hi, Ben!” Alice made a beeline for him, Candice not far behind.

“Hi!” Candice squeaked. “You remember us?”

“Of course,” he played. “Lunch was good?”

“Lunch was great.”

I followed up the rear, and ended up pulled into the middle of the photo, leaving a rather sour looking Candice on the sidelines.

“You here.” Ben waved me into his side.

“Me?”

“Yep, come on.” He held an arm out.

Dark fabric of a polo shirt caught and cinched as I slipped an arm around his middle, his arm dropped around my neck, and I looked to make sure my friends were okay. This would be murder on me if they weren’t.

“Now, we’ve got Alice, Candice, and Piper, correct?” Ben did a head check.

_Such a good memory._

_So wonderful._

_Correct._

_Wow._

_You’re amazing._

I did my usual shoe inspection and waited for the photo to be taken. In all it was an insanely quick process, though it felt like it was happening in slow motion. Like I knew everything was wrong, but kept hurtling forward anyway. As we made to leave the photo booth, Ben held me back for a photo of just the two of us.

“When can I see you again?” he asked.

“Shhh,” I hushed him.

“When?” he whispered, the beady eyes of tired fans peering into the booth.

“I’m engaged,” I mumbled.

“I know that,” he answered. “Just lunch.”

“I don’t know.”

“When are you around?”

“I’ll be away the next few weekends, but may have a night or two free during the week.”

“Are you pouting at me?” I smiled, turning into him.

“I wouldn’t do that.” The corner of his mouth rose to a smile.

“No, not at all.”

“So? Tonight? What are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I don’t think I have plans.”

“Can I see you, then?”

“Why?” I asked.

“I want to know how my painting is?” he played.

“Maybe,” I answered. “I’ll see.”

“Maybe?” He moved into my personal space.

It was the train carriage all over again, except this time we chose to stand this close. I don’t think even Nicola Tesla and his ball would’ve had this much electricity.

“You were right, you know?”

“About what?” Finally, I looked at him.

“They’re nowhere near as cute as you.”

I laughed, looking back towards the curtain my friends had just walked through.

“Okay, sure.” I nodded.

“I’m serious.”

“Why me?” I asked. “You know I can’t do this.”

“Why not you?”

“I’m a bit vanilla compared to what you’re used to.”

“Been checking up on me, have you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “No. Nope. No, not at all. I just figure…”

“It’s okay, I found your Instagram the other night,” he teased. “And I liked what I saw. Very much.”

“Thank you.”

“If I call you tonight, will you answer?”

I nodded. “Sure, okay.”

The thing with these comic events, the ones where you get your photo taken with celebrities, is that there’s a bit of lag time between when you get your photo taken, and when you can actually collect it. Then they do an even more wonderful thing by displaying the picture on a wall for all and sundry to see.

By the time the three of us had gone for a drink, after I’d been absolutely slaughtered with questions about Ben, the photos were up and ready to be collected. The walk through the crowd was slow, but a small circle was crowded around one focal point.

_That would have to be the best photo today._

_Hands down._

_I thought there was no posing._

_It’s not really a pose is it, though it’d work on the red carpet, I guess._

_Their fingers are entwined._

_In both photos._

_He’s completely ignoring the other two girls._

_Wait? Haven’t I seen her before?_


	11. Chapter 11

I slid into the booth at the pub, my list of things to do longer than I had enough paper for. My email had been flooded that morning, sneaky photos from the weekend convention had popped up in a few different places and I was, as they say, the talk of the town.

We were standing far too close for two people that weren’t romantically involved. He was ignoring my friends, full attention set on me, and other convention goers had snuck photos of us looking more loved-up than I cared to admit.

Walking out of the office with a satchel full of paper and pencils, I told Rich I was taking some time and would be back in the afternoon. Laptop tilted open, four hours remaining on the battery if I used it for nothing more than a wallpaper, and a pot of Tetley’s next to me.

I didn’t dare ring Chris. How could I? I felt ashamed, embarrassed, and hoped to God he hadn’t seen the photos. The fact he hadn’t called yet was a good thing, and I didn’t intend on dropping myself into anything by calling him.

“They told me you were here.” Ben slid into the booth, pushing the laptop screen down.

“Go away,” I hissed.

“Why?”

“Because go away.”

“Because go away makes no sense. Why do you want me to go away?”

I glanced up at him, my eyes diverting quickly. He made my stomach churn with nerves and my mouth dry up. “This has to stop.”

“I put a kill order on those photos.”

“Too late,” I muttered.

“I don’t think so.”

“I do. My inbox is full of them. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“What, you don’t want to be seen with me now?”

“I’m getting married.” My face crumpled, tears stinging my eyes as I buried my mouth in the heel of my hand. “This is not right, Ben.”

“The only thing that’s not right is how badly you’re beating yourself up over this.”

“No.” I took a deep breath in. “What we’re doing is wrong.”

“Being friends? Is that wrong?”

“You know it’s more than that.”

“Really?” he asked. “Well, I’m glad to hear you admit it. Are you going to admit it to anyone else?”

“I’m getting married,” I repeated.

“Who are you trying to convince of that? Me… or you?”

“I’m not trying to convince anyone.” I stopped. “And, if you’re not concerned, why the kill order?”

“I’m not concerned. I don’t care what people think.”

“What a lot of shit. If that was true, there’d be no need for a kill order.”

“My concern is for you, because I realised how bad they looked the minute they were taken.”

“So now you’re being noble?” I scoffed. “Come on.”

“I know how bad those photos look, so I’m having them dealt with because I know how I would react to them as a boyfriend. I don’t want to cause trouble for you, especially considering I enjoy your company so much.”

“He hasn’t seen them yet… that I know of.”

“And he won’t.”

“He will. It will always come out. And the fact that you’re trying to bury them is telling.”

“I’m not trying to convince myself of something, though, am I?”

“The media were calling my workplace today to ask about you.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Nothing.”

“So they know nothing, then.”

“This is not a joke, this is my life,” I pleaded with him. “Don’t you understand?”

“I understand a lot of things,” he stood up, “I’m just wondering when you will.”

**

Owing to my self-imposed Ben Hiatus, I skipped the opening night of his play. I didn’t want to be in the same room as him, watching him, risking the eventuality of ending up backstage. Instead, I stayed home with Chris and worked out details of my next exhibition.

“I’d still really like to photograph Benedict.” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think to contain them.

“Thank you for not going tonight.” Chris gave my hand a squeeze. “It means a lot.”

“I just think he was getting the wrong idea, that’s all.”

“And you set him straight?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“I have some news, too.” Chris smiled.

“You do?”

“I was offered a job today. Full time editor at a car magazine.”

“No way!” I shrieked.

“Yes way. You know, the writing’s good and fun, and all that, but it’s not paying the bills, is it? It’s not getting us closer to the wedding.”

“That’s amazing. You’re amazing!” I beamed, reaching over to kiss him. “Thank you.”

“Way overdue,” he admitted.

We fell into bed together in a way we hadn’t in a long time. It was refreshing, like a start-over, if those things even exist. For the first time in a long time, I felt like we were on the right track.

**

**London Express**

_November 29 th, 2015_

**DATE, SET, MATCH:** Rumours are swirling in the local art scene that Piper Kincaide has set a date for her wedding. Fiancé, magazine editor Christopher Watts, proposed earlier this year during lunch at Tate Modern. Those in the know are reporting December 2016 for the nuptials. Ever the artist, Kincaide is apparently keen to see snow in her wedding photos.

What of those Cumber-rumours, then?


	12. Chapter 12

I ran across the apartment excitedly, and threw myself on the bed, and on Chris.

“You’re not going to believe what came in the mail.” I straddled him. “Wake up.” I shook him.

“What?”

“We didn’t check the mail yesterday. I have mail.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he mumbled, wiping sleep from his eyes.

I cleared my throat and read from the letter, “You are hereby formally invited to participate in the ‘Modern Women. Modern Art’ exhibition at Tate Modern.”

“Are you serious?” Chris sat up with me still on his lap. “Let me see.”

I wrapped my arm around his neck and smattered his cheek with kisses as he read over the letter himself.

“This is amazing,” he enthused. “Congratulations.”

**

“You going to stop ignoring me?”

I’d answered my phone without looking at caller ID. “Ben?”

“Do you know any other Bens?”

“Hundreds,” I teased. “I can hardly keep tabs.”

“So, like I asked, you going to stop ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“Really? Because there was an empty seat in the theatre the other night.”

“I just couldn’t, I’m sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Because maybe you were right.”

“Right about…”

“So, I’ve got some news. Want to catch lunch?”

“Do I want to catch lunch?” he mused. “Hmmm.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not the one ignoring.”

“I’m not ignoring you, I just needed thinking music.”

**

Ben hummed, snapped his fingers, and bounced around in his seat.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking music,” he exclaimed. “You done?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” I repeated. “I got an invite to exhibit at Tate.”

“No shit!” he exclaimed. “When?”

“March.”

“What are you submitting then?” He tipped a coffee cup to his mouth. “Self-portrait? Nude? Painting? Comic?”

“D) all of the above?” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What about a nude self-portrait?”

I snorted, biting down on my sandwich. “No one wants to see that.”

Ben raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I shook my head.

“Why? Because it’s the truth. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“And she admits it.” He slapped the edge of the table loudly, drawing glances from around the café. “Sorry.”

“I haven’t admitted anything.” I pointed a finger at him.

“You don’t have to.”

“Pffft.”

“What’s on for Christmas?” Ben changed the subject completely.

“What _is_ your brain like?” I teased. “You bounce around everywhere.”

“I’m making conversation.” His face as animated as his body.

“Right, well, lunch in Dagenham with my family, dinner in Sheffield with Chris’s lot.”

“Nice drive.”

“It’s not so bad, we do an early lunch, the kids pass out, everyone’s happy.” I shrugged. “What about you?”

“Well, single boy here is going to the Cotswolds -.”

“Fancy,” I teased.

“- to spend time with his parents.”

“It’ll be lovely out there, though.”

“Christmas drinks at my place. Would you _and_ Christopher like to come?”

“You want me to bring my boyfriend?”

“Not particularly, but wouldn’t it be rude to not ask?”

“I can guess his answer already.”

**

I knew something was wrong the minute I walked through the door. Chris was home early, and he hadn’t been home early since starting his job. Suit and tie, he stood leant against the kitchen sink, arms folded across his front.

“Hey, you.” I smiled, dropping my satchel bag next to his.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Of course, what’s wrong?”

He walked over to the dining table and picked up a yellow, intra-office envelope. “I got this in my email today,” he mumbled, pulling printed papers from it.

I watched in horror as he pushed photos across the table toward me, watching me the entire time, looking for my reaction. A photo of Ben and I laughing at the café, of us walking along Blacks Road, of him kissing me on the cheek as he left.

“The paparazzi get themselves everywhere,” he said calmly.

“You’ve got people following me?”

“Paparazzi. These are the best of the bunch, but there are about twenty more.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong. He is my friend.”

“I’ve had a kill order put on these. The story that was going to go out tomorrow as about how you were having an affair.”

“What is it with you men and your kill orders? You work for a car magazine,” I spat. “Not the National Enquirer.”

“But I know people, and they call me, Piper.”

“I’m not doing anything wrong!” I shouted.

“It doesn’t look like it!” He shouted back. “The entire office saw these before me!”

“You show me anywhere where there is proof I’m sleeping with him,” I pleaded. “He is a friend, and his is a good friend. He’s a better friend than you are at the moment.”

Chris stood back, stiff as a post. “Is this over?” he asked. “Fifteen years, is this it?”

“It will be if you don’t start trusting me.”

“Why should I trust you?” he shouted. “Why?”

“I think you’ve just answered the question.” I snatched my keys back off the table, collected my satchel, and walked out.

**

“Does he have reason to be concerned?” Katie asked. “Be honest with me, should be he concerned?”

I sighed, and rubbed my face. “I don’t know. I just… I don’t know.”

“Are you attracted to him?”

I looked at her. “What do you think?”

“Who isn’t,” she agreed.

“What do I do?”

“Can’t you just stay away from him?”

“Here’s the thing, though, I don’t want to stay away from him.”

“Well, let the chips fall where they may, then.” She shrugged.


	13. Chapter 13

Ben looks down at the counter in front of him. Loose change chinks as he drops it in the left pocket of his jeans, his iPhone dropped in the right. He shrugs his blue shirt on, the buttons clasped from top to bottom. He runs his fingers through his hair, dark brown, and longish.

_Needs a cut, damn Sherlock_ , he thinks.

A leather jacket follows, needed for the motorbike trip home.

He opens the door of the dressing room. Another three-hour show over, showered, changed, and exhausted.

She’s waiting in the empty hall for him. Smiling. She’s not dressed up, but in an oversized shirt, old, and covered in paint. She looks like she’s just gotten out of bed; calm, natural, gorgeous. Splatters of paint are still crusted in her hair. Her palms are splayed flat against the wall. Her hair, tousled, cascades across her shoulders and down her back.

“Hello.” She smiles, dimples pinching at her cheeks.

“Hey.” He walks toward her. “Long time, no see.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” She curls her fingers around the back of his neck, her nose brushing against his gently, but with specific purpose. “What are you doing tonight?”

He pushes her into the wall with his body. A hand on either cheek, she can feel the individual lines and ridges of his fingerprints, memorising her own skin. Her fingers dance up the back of his neck, sliding through his hair, and she gives a gentle tug as his lip find hers.

She kisses him greedily, hungrily, short, sharp breaths echoed in the tight space between them, her fingers grasping for the hem of his shirt. Fumbling, she looks down, Ben peppering the side of her head with kisses, his palms flat against the wall, the only thing holding him upright.

“I want you,” she whispers.

Ben nods in short, sharp spurts. “Okay.”

“Inside me,” she gasps. “Now.”

His eyes sprang open, gasping for breath. Red numbers blinked on the alarm clock next to his bed, announcing the start of Christmas Day. Ben rubbed his eyes and shuffled into an upright position, lifting the duvet.

“And Merry Christmas to you,” he mumbled at his crotch. “Goddamn.”

**

The chips did fall, and not in the way that flower petals fall from the sky in air freshener commercials. It was more like Sherlock over the Reichenbach Falls. A giant thud accompanying the landing.

Things never quite recovered after the day Chris brought photos home. Christmas was spent apart; he left for Sheffield on a north-bound train Christmas Eve, and I walked two miles to my parents’ house early Christmas morning.

“Where’s Chrissy?” Mum frowned as I stood solo on the doorstep.

“Sheffield.”

“Already? What’s going on?”

I pushed my way into the house, everyone already waiting around a fold out table in the lounge. Everyone watched on silently as I pulled up a chair with them.

“He’s not here,” I offered. “Apparently my list of friends needs to be approved by him. I refuse to live bound by that, so he’s cracked it and gone to Sheff without me.”

No one answered, and a quick look from me meant that no one asked any further questions, despite the obvious ones that were screaming to be heard. The kids asked after their uncle, I told them he was with his family, and they left it at that.

“Are you sure you want this?” Paige threw a tea towel at me.

“I guess I’m drying.” I smiled.

“Piper, stop it. You’re driving him away.”

“I’m not driving anyone away,” I scoffed. “In this day and age I refuse to accept the notion that my husband can pick my friends for me.”

“It’s more than that,” she mumbled. “You know you can’t lie to me, of all people.”

She was dead right. I could pull one over Mum occasionally, Dad very rarely, but Paige had inherited her magic lie detecting skill from somewhere and turned it into some sort of super power.

“I’m really confused,” I admitted. “I really like him.”

“Do you want to marry Chris? And don’t feel compelled to answer yes just because you’ve known him since forever.”

“At the moment? No.”

“You need to tell him that.”

“He makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a long time,” I pleaded.

“Yeah, I know that feeling. It’s called the honeymoon phase.”

“There’s an ease to being with him. We fit. I don’t feel that with Chris anymore. It’s just a constant struggle with him lately.”

“Please tell him. Don’t you dare go setting dates, and booking venues, and buying dresses if it’s not what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I’m sure he’s arrived in your life for a reason.”

“But what, though?” I asked.

“Ask him.” She shrugged.

**

A plate of chips sat half-eaten at our regular booth, and I pushed them toward Ben.

“No, thank you.” He waved a hand.

“I’m not hungry.”

“So, what gives? Have you thought we should find somewhere else to drink besides here?”

I shrugged. “It’s close to work.”

“How is work?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. My next exhibition has been pushed back a bit to try and get my stuff ready for Tate -.”

“Oh!” he cut me off. “I got an invite for opening night.”

“Hey, well done, you.” I smiled. “You going?”

“If I’m in town, absolutely! What’ve you got planned?”

“So, I was thinking a self-portrait of some description. Maybe at different stages of the day. First thing in the morning, then ready for work, three o’clock slump, then ready for bed. Kind of a many faces of woman idea, which will fit into my painting. I’m going to paint a whole heap of women looking into the one mirror.” I rattled off my list on my fingers. “You know, the mother, the wife, the lover, the nurse, the cook, the cleaner, the dreamer, the daughter, the artist. And the reflection of the picture will just show one woman, kind of done up as a superhero.”

“Do you realise how amazing it is listening to you talk about your work?” He smiled, and pinched some chips he swore he didn’t need only minutes earlier. “The animation in your face, more people need to find that.”

I looked at him oddly, not sure where to take the conversation.

“Sorry, I’ve put you off, I’m sorry. Please continue. Are you just going to do those two items?”

“I’m not sure. I really like the idea of the notion that woman can’t exist without man, so I wanted a portrait of a man and a woman that kind of illustrated that. Say, two bodies entwined like…” I snapped my fingers, looking for words that escaped me.

“A DNA helix?”

He got it. So many people in my life got that art was bringing money into my wallet (at the moment), but they didn’t get the art for arts’ sake. He did.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” I answered.

“Maybe we could try it… if you still wanted to do that photo shoot, that is?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, too.”

“Sure, shoot.”

“Chris is out of town next week.”

“Okay,” Ben answered slowly.

“So I wanted to do the shoot while he wasn’t around.”

“I’m in. This Saturday night?”

I did the mental arithmetic a moment. “Yes, yes, he’s leaving Saturday morning for Edinburgh. He’ll be there a week.”

“I’ve got theatre Saturday night. Why don’t you come along to the theatre? I promise I won’t tell him.” A devious smile spread. “Can you shoot at night?”

“Of course. Actually, it’d be better to shoot at night in my apartment. No outside light interfering. I’ll set the lights up during the day -.”

“- and I’ll organise a seat for you Saturday night.”

“- and then I’ll… wait, are you sure you’ll be fine after the theatre?”

“We’ll see, won’t we? Should be fine. I can organise a driver to get us home.”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” I agreed. “I’ll message you when I’m in the theatre, then? Make sure everything’s ready so we can shoot the minute we walk through the door.”

Ben nodded, looking around like he was waiting for something, or someone.

“You okay?” I asked.

“You going to tell him?”


	14. Chapter 14

Mid January in London, and we were getting smashed with rain. Ben had organised more tickets to his play, _Icarus,_ and I’d gotten off the train at Piccadilly Circus with about three million other people all headed in the same direction.

You could spot the fangirls a mile away. I was walking in a sea of Commander Jax Bentley t-shirts and all I wanted to do was laugh riotously. Not at the idea that I thought the t-shirts were ridiculous, but because… well… I knew something they all didn’t.

One girl appeared to be in her late twenties, easily, and was carrying a doll. My friend had his own doll, and there were seemingly multiple versions of it, too. What in the sad hell is that all about?

I wondered if it was anatomically correct. So did she, apparently; I asked her.

“I hope there’s more than a Ken Doll mound there.” She proudly pulled down his pants to show me.

“You’d feel a bit ripped off, wouldn’t you?” I asked.

“I would cry, like no shit, I would fucking cry.” Her face was lit up like a Christmas tree, scrubby, red, and seemingly unwashed.

As for my clothing, I was walking around in something not quite so smart for a blustery night: a pinafore dress, stockings, and flat shoes. It helped that I was wearing the thickest overcoat I could find at home.

Ben had asked if I wanted some passes to get backstage, but I thought it best I left him to work for the night, so stuck with a standard ticket.

A bottle of water and a bag of overpriced sweets and I was ready for the night. Candice and Alice showed up just as it was time to walk into the theatre, a gaggling mess of excited hormones.

“Where are we seated?” Alice took her ticket excitedly.

“A few rows back, I think.” I handed Candice hers.

“Ten rows?”

“It’s only a small theatre, it’s fine.”

“Your boyfriend -.”

“Shhhh,” I warned. “Don’t say that, he’s not my boyfriend”

We were in a theatre full of fans, some of whom knew about me, and she wanted to mouth off. I loved her, but sometimes she just didn’t think about the things that came out of her mouth.

“You have _resources_ ,” she started again, “and we’re ten rows back?”

“You can always go home?” I asked. “It’ll be a good night.”

It’s not like he actually had to give me more tickets at all, let alone tickets for friends.

What a night it turned out to be. Truth be told, I’d still seen very little of Ben’s work up until the point that we’d started spending time together and, even then, I hadn’t had time to watch more than an episode or two of _CounterShock_ and that was only in passing.

So, the question of the Ken Doll mound was answered about five minutes into the play when Ben came stomping across the stage in his birthday suit.

Tony Stark.

Naked.

As proud as punch, and as nude as the day he was born. I slid down in my seat and peeked through the fingers that covered my eyes.

_“Holy fuck, get a look at that thing.”_

_“Whoever she is, I’ll bet she’s happy.”_

_“Ladies, if I don’t come back at intermission, I’ve died in the toilet.”_

_“He seems to be bulking up nicely for CounterShock.”_

_“I think you’re looking in the wrong direction, honey.”_

_“Oh baby Jesus is crying tonight.”_

Baby Jesus was fucking crying, alright, and I was hiding my face from view. I might have been about ten rows from the stage, but you could still see everything. Ten rows was not that far away.

I walked out of the play with the realisation that most of London had likely seen my friend’s cock, and all I could do about it was laugh. It was ridiculously funny. The clincher was the hundreds of fans running for Stage Door after the show for autographs.

The three of us stepped out into the night, wind whipping around the small streets that surrounded the theatre. The Bellamy, bright lights, and what appeared to be a small city built on top of it. If it looked any more like the 1980’s, it’d have neon lights out the front.

Maybe they’d upgraded from them since.

Keen to go out for drinks, I stayed with Alice and Candice at a nearby bar and then got a cab up to Waterloo. It wasn’t far, but it was late and I couldn’t be bothered walking. Ben was straight on the text messaging the minute he’d showered.

_ Five minutes late, see you soon.  _

_Can’t wait. X_

Honestly, I couldn’t. While it had been a few days between drinks, my days and nights were full of random text messages, pictures, voicemail messages from meetings, read throughs, and all other manner of adventures he got himself into. I loved them, looked forward to them and, slowly, we were getting to know each other, albeit in an unconventional manner. I adored it, despite the fact it was drawing me further and further away from my life as I knew it.

A small stone on the ground caught my attention, and I batted it around with my shoe while I waited under the bright lights at Waterloo. So lost with it, I missed Ben standing ten feet away.

I looked up and caught his eye. A smirk became a smile, which became a giggle, and then a full blown laugh.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t tell you,” he offered.

“I promise you it’s okay,” I assured him. “It’s not the first I’ve seen.”

“I know, I know, but I just thought that if I said to you ‘Hey, come check out my play, I get my cock out for most of it’ that maybe you wouldn’t be so excited about it.”

He hiccupped.

“Ben.”

“Yes.” He did his best not to laugh.

“It is just a penis. You ever done a life drawing class?”

“No.”

“You see plenty there,” I offered. “And yours is perfectly fine, by the way.”

“It’s art, right?”

“Of course,” I agreed. “Art.”

We laughed like teenagers, two idiots discovering dick jokes for the first time.

“I’m hungry. Can we do dinner before these photos?”

“What do you want?” Ben asked.

“Something sweet.”

Hooray for late night restaurants. The streets were cold and quiet, and we were tucked into the back corner of Waffle House, caught up in our own world.

“You are so buzzed.” I smiled. “I love how excited you are about this play.”

“I’m just so glad the first few weeks are over and done with. Did the girls, did your friends enjoy it?”

“They really did.” I nodded, leaving out the part about the reaction to the nudity. “They had a ball, and wanted me to say thank you for the tickets.”

They absolutely didn’t say that, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Two balls.”

I laughed, my mouth wrapped around my straw sending bubbles up through my milkshake.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it.” Ben shook his head.

I wiped my mouth. “It’s completely cool,” I assured him. “Thank you for the tickets… again.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Do you want a coffee to calm you down?” I smiled.

“That is a _terrible_ idea,” Ben laughed, far too animated for that time of night.

“Really?”

“I won’t sleep.”

“I don’t think you will, anyway.”

“Sounds like I need to call the car.” Ben smiled.

“The car?”

“You didn’t think we were going to Tube it back to your place, did you?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, didn't get a lot of writing time today, so you might have to wait one more day for the *good* stuff. We're getting there... promise!

The interior of the car was plush, leather, woodgrain, and a beautiful clean smell that only came from a car that wasn’t used by an artist with thinners, oils, canvases, and pencils rolling around in the back everywhere.

Ben held the door open as I slipped into the back seat and fastened my belt. He shucked off his jacket, tossed it between us, and sank into his own side of the vehicle.

“Address?” Ben looked at me.

“Rusper Road, Dagenham,” I announced.

The driver gave a curt nod and pulled out into traffic; I felt an odd flourish of power and ran my fingers over the seams of Ben’s jacket. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Christopher.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Where have you been?”

“Out with the girls,” I answered.

“Oh, okay.”

“We went out for some dinner and drinks. I’m going home now to paint.”

“It’s late for painting.”

“It’ll be nice and quiet,” I answered. “How are you? Are you well?”

“I’m good. We went out for dinner tonight. Doing some sight-seeing tomorrow, and then straight into work for the week.”

“Sounds good,” I answered, sighing heavily.

“You okay?”

“I think we should talk when you get home,” I blurted, the words past my lips before I’d had a chance to even think about it.

Chris was silent. I’d just broken his heart, and mine, without thinking too hard about it.

“Are you with him? Right now, are you with him?”

“No,” I lied.

“Please tell me the truth, Piper, I’ll be less angry if you tell me the truth.”

I looked across at Ben, who was watching me intently. “No, I’m not with him.”

“Okay,” he answered. “Do you want me to come home tomorrow and we can sort everything out?”

“No.” I shook my head. “A bit of space will be nice.”

“Sure thing.”

“Just concentrate on your work. There’s not much to sort.”

He didn’t answer; it wasn’t often that he was lost for words.

“I’ll see you Friday night?” I asked.

“Yeah, you will.”

“Sleep well, Chrissey.”

“You, too,” he answered. “Goodbye.”

I watched orange street lights flash by as tears burned in my ears, the enormity of what had just happened hanging like a thick cloud of fog in the car. I buried a hand under Ben’s jacket. He waited an inordinate amount of time before reaching under and squeezing it gently, his fingers lacing with mine.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay,” I answered, not looking at him.

“Do you want me to go home?”

I shook my head and wiped my eyes. “No.”

Silence was dotted by my snivelling for the next few kilometres as I struggled with what I’d just done. Sure, it was the right decision, but it was swift, and quick, in the dead of night, and not at all how I’d expected it to end.

“I’m a horrible person,” I mumbled.

“Do you really believe that?”

I nodded.

He reached across and took my hand, pulling it over into his lap. “I can think of a thousand reasons why you aren’t.”

“Being able to draw doesn’t make me a good person.”

**

I stomped up the stairs to my apartment, unlocked the door, and kicked it open. We hadn’t spoken the rest of the trip home, but Ben had held my hand, drawing shapes in my palm with a finger of the opposite hand.

Everything had changed, but everything inside the apartment looked the same. All my equipment was set up for the night, the photographic backdrop against a closed window, flashbulbs on stands, reflectors, a tripod, and a ridiculously expensive camera.

The whole time, Ben had stayed quiet.

“I’m just going to get changed,” I muttered. “Probably shower, I feel like shit.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “I’ll just… wait here.”

“There’s a record player, drinks in the fridge, help yourself.” I pushed the bathroom door shut behind me, sat on the bathtub, and cried.

I reappeared in an oversized shirt and pair of shorts; the same clothes I painted in all the time. Ben was sat, slumped at the dining table, looking around, taking everything in. His duffle bag rested atop the table.

“Shall we do this?” he asked. “Or would you like to be alone?”

“No,” I answered. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone commented recently that I should write one-shots as well as these multi chapter numbers. So, I'm after some prompts. Want to see a one-shot? Doesn't have to be BC related. Comment below!

At that, Ben moved around the room, pacing back and forth with a glass of water. I stood there, still in some state of dumbfounded disbelief at what had transpired in the hours earlier. I took a peek in the fridge, but couldn’t find anything that I wanted.

“I guess we should do this, then,” I muttered, kicking a hairdressers’ stool across the room. It clattered along on its casters and stopped just short of the photographic backdrop.

“What do you want me to do?” Ben asked.

“Normally, I just have conversation with people and take random photos. I don’t like overly posed.”

He nodded. “Sure, okay, I’ll just sit down here, then.” He grabbed another stool and wheeled it in place. “Do you want me to change?”

“No, you’re perfectly fine. Just… take your jumper off. A white t-shirt is fine.”

“So, what do you want?”

“God, I feel like shit.” I muttered, distracted.

“We can do this another day?”

“I think we should.”

“I’m sorry our night ended like this.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have -.”

“No, it is my fault.”

“Whatever. I should have done something sooner.”

**

I woke up the next morning to clattering in the kitchen. Chris was back, and stomping around, shoving items into three different suitcases thrown open on the dining table.

“Christopher.”

“Good morning.” He forced a smile.

“We should talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Of course there’s something to talk about.” I climbed out of bed and wrapped a robe around me.

“Alright, let’s talk.” He stormed over to his satchel bag, pulling out another envelope.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “Here we go.”

“Yes, here we go,” he answered. “Here’s what I want to know.” He pulled photos out. “These are more paparazzi photos. My girlfriend, my fiancé cavorting around town with another man.”

“Oh come the fuck on!” I shouted. “I’m allowed to have friends.”

“I’m not with him Christopher, no I’m not. We just need to talk. Never mind the fact you got into a car with him last night!” he shouted. “Did he stay here?”

I shook my head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your answer.”

“No!” I shouted. “No! He did not stay here! No, I haven’t slept with him and, no, I’ve never kissed him!”

“How the fuck do you expect me to believe that?” he shouted, throwing clean and dirty clothes alike into a suitcase. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I am not,” I scoffed.

“You men with your kill orders? I knew there was something wrong the minute that came out of your mouth.” He pulled out the photos from the convention. “You expect me to believe there’s nothing going on when I look at these photos?”

I had no answer.

“Answer me!” he shouted.

“Why? You’re not going to believe me, anyway.”

“Fifteen years, and this is what I get.”

“It’s not about who gets what.”

“Really? Because I feel like I’ve been fucked over. I’m a bloody laughing stock. Your girlfriend clearly loves you when she gets swept off her feet within five minutes. Solid rock relationship you’ve got going on there.”

“I haven’t slept with him.”

“Why the hell should I believe you?” He pulled his favourite, broken coffee mug out of the cupboard and tossed it into a suitcase. “You’ve lied to me about everything else. I know you were with him last night.”

“I don’t give a shit if you know that I was with him. I didn’t do anything. He’s my friend.”

“I give it a week and you’ll know what his dick tastes like.”

“Oh, you’re really classy, aren’t you?” I scoffed. “Sore loser.”

“What did you say?” He stormed over to me.

I stood on my spot, not budging, not backing down. “I said you’re a sore loser. We don’t have enough money. I get a lucky break and someone with some level of influence buys a work, which leads to more sales. Then, suddenly, you’re pissy because he’s introducing me to people who like my work.”

“He just wants you in his bed. That’s all he ever wanted.”

“You know that, do you? You were privy to our conversations, were you?”

“It became fairly obvious when you changed the minute he showed up.”

“You’re never happy. You’ve never been happy. I can’t win either way. I’m not a womb just to bear your children. You can’t demand I stop or slow down once we get married. And, let’s face it, the marriage proposal only came because you were scared shitless, and you were jealous.”

“That’s not true. I love you.”

“No you don’t, not if you’re putting terms and conditions on it.”

And there we were at stalemate. Neither of us budging or giving in, except that Chris was zipping up his suitcases and lining them up at the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere but near you,” he spat.

“Don’t be an arse.”

“Do you care?”

“Of course I care!”

“What a lot of shit.” He shook his head. “At least it makes a good story, right. My girlfriend left me for Benedict Cumberbatch.”

“Says the one packing his bags.”

“Says the one who did the whole ‘we need to talk’ last night,” he countered. “While you were travelling in a car with him. No, Chrissy, I’m not with him. I told you not to lie to me! We could have had a proper discussion about what to do, but you lied.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care anymore.” He did one last check for his things. “Give me the ring back.”

“Take it.” I held it out to him. “And get out.”

“Oh, I’m getting out.”

He slammed the door behind him, mumbling the whole time about fifteen years, lifetime commitments, and how terribly poor of a job my parents did bringing me up if everything was to amount to this.

I looked around at what he’d left. Credit where credit was due, I expected to find ruined paintings, but they were all fine, as was all of my equipment, still set up from the night prior. Print outs of photos he’d got from someone were left on the dining table.

My phone, sitting quietly on the shelf above the sink had one message on the screen.

“Are you okay?”

It was from Ben.

**

Monday was a late start for me, most of Sunday spent keeping a low profile and rearranging the apartment. Chris sent emails through on Monday morning to the landlord removing his name and details from the lease agreement, from bills, from anything that we had joint ownership of. The car, completely in his name, was long gone from the driveway.

Walking through the open plan area toward my office, I couldn’t help but feel like everyone was watching me. And I didn’t know if it was real, or if I was imagining it. My phone hadn’t been bombarded with messages or phone calls. I hadn’t told anyone about Chris, yet, so no one would be messaging me about that. Nothing had been in the media, that I knew of.

A shadowy figure paced back and forth in my office, and I worked out that the eyes weren’t imagined, and that people were staring at me.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Ben gasped at me as I pushed open the office door.

“What? Why?” I hung my coat and bag up on a wall hook.

“It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I almost laughed, and I would have if I wasn’t too busy being angry at Chris.

“I pushed and pushed for this. I should’ve waited for you to end it in your own time.”

“Piss off,” I scoffed. “You want a coffee?”

“What?”

“Do you want a coffee?” I repeated.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. In fact, I feel fucking amazing. Free as a bird, as the Beatles might sing.”

Ben frowned his back straight as a dye. “Are you serious?”

Wide-eyed, I nodded. “Yeah, it’s shit, yeah it was a long time, yeah, I loved him. But you brought out something I didn’t like in him, and I’m glad.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. The hint of competition, and he’s scrambling for engagement rings, setting dates, and trying to lock down bloody babies like that’ll stop me talking to people of the opposite sex. Fuck that shit.”

“Fuck that shit,” Ben mumbled.

“So, coffee?”

“No, no, I’ve gotta go. Got some stuff on this morning. Hop Poles at one?”

“Hop Poles at one.” I smiled, leaving my office.


	17. Chapter 17

“Tell me.” Ben dropped a pot of beer on the table.

“No.”

“No?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want to go over it again.”

“Parents know?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Me?”

“What about you?” I asked.

“You know,” his finger danced between the two of us, “this.”

“No, and they won’t… at least not yet.”

His shoulders slumped.

“Here’s the thing, no matter which way this slides, I’m in the wrong. I should have ended things earlier, and I didn’t. Instead we… did what we did, I got caught out, and… well… there are photos.”

“What photos?”

“He confronted me the other week about photos of us going out to lunch, and he’d been so gallant in having a kill order put out. I might have mentioned something about men and their kill orders… he obviously went looking. He came home Sunday morning with the comic con photos.”

“Points for finding them, then.”

“They’re not hard to find. They’re all over the internet on various fan sites. They were never going away.” I shook my head. “I went looking last night.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now.”

“So, what now?” Ben asked.

“Reschedule this photo shoot, I guess.”

“I mean with us.” His face completely deadpan.

“I don’t want any of this public if I can help it.”

“What do you mean any of this?”

“I don’t want to be painted like some scarlet woman who’s jumped from one bed to the other.”

“You’ve hardly done that.” He looked around the room.

“It doesn’t matter what I know and what you know, you know that, surely?”

“Of course.”

“Because I can guarantee there’ll be a story somewhere that he plants, vindictive shit.”

“Do you think he will?”

**

**London Express**

_January 20 th, 2016_

**CUMBER-BATCH OF LIES:** Things look to be getting nasty in the Christopher Pastors, Piper Kincaide, Benedict Cumberbatch love triangle, with Pastors confirming the end of his engagement to Kincaide, a London based artist and comic book designer. The split comes after months of speculation regarding the nature of Kincaide’s friendship with Cumberbatch. Sources close to the couple site mounting jealousy, fights, and Kincaide’s insistence that her close friendship with Cumberbatch be allowed to continue unabated.

Speaking exclusively to the London Express, Pastors, an editor for Motoring UK, said he wished them both the very best, but regrets that it has come to that. “I love her very much,” he’s quoted as saying, “but, in the end, I just couldn’t compete with Cumberbatch.”

Representatives for Kincaide and Cumberbatch have yet to respond to requests for comment, though the photographs contained on the right do nothing to quell rumours.

**

Mum threw the newspaper down on the kitchen table in front of me. “Are you serious, Piper?”

I shrugged. “Define serious.”

“Oh, come on!”

“No, not come on,” I argued. “I didn’t sleep with him, I didn’t even kiss him. For some stupid reason we became good friends. We enjoy spending time together, and Christopher couldn’t handle it.”

“Who ended it?” she asked.

“I started the ball rolling,” I admitted.

“How?”

“Told him we had to talk.”

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Honestly?” Paige asked.

“Honestly.” I nodded, arms folded across the front of me. “I am happier right now.”

“What happened with Chrissey?” Mum sat back down at the table.

I waved my hands about. “Well, when I met Ben, I told him -.”

“Jesus take the wheel you get to call him Ben.”

My eyes darted to Paige, and back to Mum. “Ben called me up and asked if I could please do a commission piece for him house. I found that strange because he has an arts degree, but whatever. I quoted him up for his painting, a bit of back and forth ensued, we had a bit of a chat, which extended out to having lunch together a few times. Ask and ye shall receive, so I got theatre tickets, and…” I rubbed my face. “Look, something is happening, and it’s very confusing for me because I didn’t expect it, and I don’t expect the scrutiny from family.”

Paige leaned in close. “Have you kissed him?”

**

With more dirty dishes than should be legal loosely stacked in the dishwasher, old clothes picked up from the floor, and a general sense of ‘yes someone lives here, and it is a clean house’, I stepped into the shower. It was Saturday morning, and I had fifteen minutes to spare; plenty of time, surely.

I know, I know, don’t call me Shirley.

Advice? Don’t open your eyes in horror at the sound of a doorbell when you have a head full of shampoo. That shit stings your eyes. I hoped like hell I got it all out when I rinsed quickly and did my best to not slip over.

“Just a second!” I called.

“Sorry, I’m early!”

Not completely dry, my t-shirt clung to me, perhaps not my sexiest look. Deodorant on top of freshly shaved armpits bloody hurts, and I never learn. Each time, I still keep doing it. While I was in my bathroom having a minor panic over that, Ben was knocking on my front door.

I grabbed a pair of dirty jeans from the back of my recliner as I skipped towards the front door.

A magazine with his face on the cover had been kicked under the bed as I did one last check in the mirror. Yep. I looked like a human, running on little sleep, about to have a break out of pimples. Excellent time.

“Just a second.”

Laptop pulled out at the power point. He didn’t need to see that I’d been on Tumblr blogs all morning.

“Are you naked?”

Clean clothes pushed into the wardrobe. Door forced shut.

“A little.” I stood behind the door, pulled my jeans on, and smoothed myself out.

“Don’t feel the need to dress on my account.” he chuckled.

Buttons done up.

“Just.”

Fly zipped.

“A.”

Cleansing wipe over the face.

“Second.”

I pulled the front door open, and there he was, in all his fresh from television studio glory, just minus the makeup, thankfully.

“Hello.” I smiled.

Ben smiled. “Hello.”

“Come on down.” I moved to let him past. “Welcome to my redesigned, avant garde, also known as have been picked apart by ex-boyfriend, apartment.”

“I like it.” He took everything in with one fell swoop of the head.

“Me too.”

“It’s very you,” he surmised.

“It is?”

“Oh yeah,” he answered.

“How do you figure that?”

“Girl that takes risks,” he teased, walking across to the easel. “This mine?”

“Yep. Almost done.”

“Very nice.” He nodded. “I like it.”

“Alright, let’s get business out of the way first. What clothes have you brought with you?” I snatched a duffle bag from his hand and tore it open.

“There’s a very neatly pressed suit in there, if you can believe that.”

“Waistcoat?”

“Why? Do you like them?” he teased.

“I might.” I smiled into the bag.

“Might?”

“Yeah, I might.” I pulled out a white t-shirt, a blue shirt, black jeans. “It’s like Mary Poppins in here and, for the love of God, can you just get it out of the way and kiss me?” I looked up at him.

Despite my outer bravado, my heart skipped a beat or five as he moved in for the kiss, a hand cupping the back of my head in a comfortable, familiar manner. I closed my eyes and tried to recall finite details of his face; his lips, the tiny divot at the end of his nose, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, the ocean blue eyes and black hair.

A thumb pad brushed against my cheek, rough and smooth colliding in an instant the moment his fingers slipped against my neck.

“Much better.” I smiled.

Ben nodded, his nose buried against mine, lips hovering tightly over mine briefly as he kissed me over again, the awkwardness now gone, making way in big leaps for something more excited, more passionate.

I pulled back, allowing myself room to breathe, and realised I was clutching his sleeve, the fabric pulling tightly in my fist, and I’d wrapped my other arm around his neck.

As for Ben’s hand, the one that wasn’t caressing my face? A fumbling set of fingers had made their way down the centre of my back and landed on my backside.

“Okay?” he breathed.

“Perfect.”

**

“I don’t want to see you naked,” I teased. “Go change behind the screen.”

“Yes you do.” He unzipped his slacks in the middle of the living room. “And, need I remind you that you’ve already seen it.”

“Whatever.” I turned my back to him and focused my attention on the camera settings. “So, what we’re going to do is just a casual conversation, like I explained last time. We’ll see where that goes.”

“Why do you do that?”

“If you’re comfortable, I get more genuine output from you.”

“I’ve always been comfortable around you,” he answered, sitting on a steel stool in front of the backdrop.

“Well, lovely, I’m about to make you more comfortable.”

“Goodie,” he answered.

I fiddled with some camera settings and walked around the room, camera remote in my hand.

“Talk,” I demanded.

Ben laughed. “About what.”

“Tell me what you did this morning.” I shrugged.

“Masturbated.”

I spun around and looked at him. “You did not.”

He laughed riotously, not noticing the camera clicking over as I walked around. “Got a reaction, though, didn’t it?”

“How’s your week been? I haven’t seen you since… Monday?”

“Busy, lots of questions after that article appeared.”

“Me, too,” I answered. “What are you telling people?”

“Nothing. You wanted to keep this quiet, so we’ll keep it quiet, won’t we?”

“At least until all the shit blows over, right?”

“I can handle that.” He nodded, watching me walk across to him. “You going to take some photos now?”

“I’ve been taking them for the last ten minutes.” I smiled.

“Have you really?”

“And I’m still taking them now.” I leant forward and played with that one, annoying little curl on his forehead. “Damn you and your ridiculously perfect hair.”

“It’s really not,” he mumbled. “I promise you.”

_Click. Click. Click._

“From where I’m standing, it’s okay.”

“Can I take photos of you?” he asked.

“Do you want to?”

“It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

I laughed. “Fair?”

“Yeah. Am I supposed to be doing something here?” He stood up. “I can pose, this is weird.”

“Put your suit on,” I offered.

“You going to tear it off me?”

“If you ask nicely.”

“Please?” He crossed the room and started changing.

A t-shirt was thrown in my direction, landing on my head. I snatched it off, and spun around to throw it back at Ben.

“Put your suit on.”

“I can do naked.”

“If you want to be photographed naked, then be my guest. One of these will end up in Tate, though.”

“Fuck that,” he scoffed.

“Darling, you never asked,” I laughed.

“What do you want to put in Tate?” He walked in front of the camera again, fully suited up. “I mean, what are you trying to say?”

“I was thinking something along the lines -.”

“You know what, who cares? Give me that little remote you’ve been carrying around.” He held his hand out. “I’m taking a photo of you. Put a shirt on, and my tie.” He tossed the tie at me.

“Why?”

“Because I have a kink,” he teased. “I have an idea.”

I rifled through some drawers and came up with another black tie. “Not quite the same, but it’ll do. Man mirrors woman mirrors man.”

“Hey?”

“Just put your tie back on and sit on the stool.” I found a mirror, knotted my tie, and took my stool to sit next to Ben.

I put some music on, adjusted the camera and the lights, and sat up next to him.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“Mirroring each other.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I can do that.”

We were done in almost no time at all, the camera clicking away silently in front of us, faces pulled, images mirrored, and ridiculous poses copied. I move to jump from my stool, and was pulled back by the hand.

“Come here.”

“Why?” I bounced back to my spot.

Ben swivelled on his stood and drew me in between his legs, his hands resting on my arse.

“That feels very nice, actually,” he teased.

I snorted. “Okay.”

“Now, don’t be like that.”

The height of the stool, and his seated position made me just taller than Ben, and I leaned down to kiss him.

“I wanted to do that again, sorry,” I mumbled.

“No,” he muttered. “No.”

“No?”

“Not sorry.” He took my top lip between his and bit gently.

I gasped, pushing myself into him further, hands that had a stronghold on his thighs moved up to hold his face instead. Fingers fumbled to find the front of my jeans, the dull pop of a button following shortly by an opening zipper as he dove his hands into the back of my pants.

All I could hear at this point was constant, heavy breathing and my own heart pounding out of my chest. We raced over to the bed, and Ben crawled over the top of me, finding his place between my legs, his hands burning my skin as he pushed them under my shirt, pushing it up and over my head.

Hooking my fingers into the waistband of his pants, I circled my fingers around until they found his front. Button and fly undone, I tried pushing his pants off of his hips at least. My bra followed as quickly as my shirt as he cupped a breast in one hand, mouth over the other, and lips concentrated on my nipple, his tongue flicking lightly. I grabbed at his hair gently and held him there for a moment, his eyes locked onto mine. If human combustion was possible, I was sure I wasn’t far from it. Everything burned. I wanted him and needed him just as badly.

At that moment he wriggled off the bed, his fingers tracing down my spine. My back arched in response to his touch as I felt him kiss his way down my belly. He didn’t bother unzipping my jeans, instead pulled them straight off, taking my underwear with them. His pants followed quickly and he joined me on the bed again. I reached down and took hold of his cock, its erect length resting on my stomach, stroking him gently as he kissed his way along my collar bone and up my neck.

“Are you trying to kill me, or something?” he mumbled, taking my wrist and pushing my hand up above my head.

“Possibly.”

He lined himself up with my entrance and pushed. I gasped, feeling my body take all of him. I couldn’t see him smile, but I could feel it on my cheek. Another thrust, and my hips rose to meet him, heels digging into the bed, pushing me into him, and him into me. What I felt was like nothing I’d ever had with anybody before. I kept pushing up into him, kissing him fiercely, trying over and over to get more of him, as impossible as that was. Ben’s hands were everywhere, taking in as much as he could, thrusting at a quickening pace. I looked up at him from where I lay and watched his face change moment by moment, our rhythm getting more desperate. I reached up behind me, taking a fist full of sheet in my tightened grip, waiting, and waiting, the friction between us driving me wild, our efforts unrelenting.

My stomach tightened, toes curled and back arched, pushing my chest up into him and I came, wrapping an arm around his neck and kissing him as this singular sensation overtook everything. Breathing changed, thoughts changed, and none of it mattered. Just he, inside me, making me feel like this. I held him close as his release came, something akin to my name groaned into my ear, gripping my backside tight enough that I’m sure he left marks, teeth in my shoulders. They would definitely leave a mark.

“Well fuck me,” he heaved.

“I think I just did.” I laughed as he collapsed on top of me, brushed my hair away from my face, and savoured a few quick kisses.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologise. I really didn't like yesterday's chapter. Frankly, i thought it was terrible. 
> 
> I hope this one is better.

I flew up out of my chair, startled.

“It’s only me.” Ben held his hands out. “The door was open.”

“Hey?”

“I’m here, for the photos.”

“Photos,” I muttered, nodding, hands on my hips. I’m sure I was bobbing around like an emu.

“Yeah, click, click, stupid pose, handsome smile.”

I snorted. “Handsome smile. Well that one won’t be too hard, will it?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just had a strange dream.”

“About what?”

“Oh, just… photos.”

“I bought my suit bag, can I just hang it over here?”

“Of course,” I answered. “It’s funny, I dreamt you bought your suit all folded in a duffle bag.”

“That’s a bit… ridiculous.”

“Wasn’t the half of it,” I admitted.

“Tell me if I was any good at least.” He smirked.

I bit my bottom lip, smiling the whole while, and tapped him on the chest. “Could be better.”

“Could be?” he scoffed. “Could be better?”

“Yep. Want a coffee?”

“Tea?”

“I can do that.”

**

I rolled around the room on a hairdresser’s stool and placed myself in front of Ben. He’d changed into a three-piece suit, minus the tie, and was sipping away at cup of builder’s tea.

“Could be better?” he repeated.

“Come on, it was a dream,” I laughed, rubbing some hair wax between my fingers. I ran it quickly through his fringe, styling the front of his hair.

“If I had you, you wouldn’t know what day of the week it was by the time we’d done.”

“Oh, really?” I looked him in the eyes. “That’s some promise.”

“You have beautiful eyes,” he changed the subject completely.

“Sorry?” I pulled my hands away from his hair.

“I said you have beautiful eyes,” he repeated. “And face.”

“And brain,” I added.

“I like your brain most of all.”

“Says the boy trying to get laid.” I rolled back toward the camera and rubbed my hands on a spare towel.

“Is it working?”

“If you think I’m jumping straight out of fifteen years in one bed, and into yours, you’ve got another think coming.”

“Understandable.”

I stopped fiddling with the camera and looked at him. “If we do this, we do it slowly.”

“You mean the sex slowly,” he rolled a finger about in a circle, “because I can do slow sex.”

“I mean the getting to the sex part.”

“Oh, you mean romance?” he toyed. “I can do romance.”

“Do you want to have a serious conversation about this?”

Ben pouted. “I would like to have a serious discussion about this,” he mimicked.

“This is a serious thing for me!” I laughed.

“I know, I know.”

“Have you read the newspapers?”

“I have.” He held his tea cup to his mouth.

“Either way this comes out in the press, I’m already the horrible party. Chrissey is the aggrieved party, and you’re the one that stole me away.”

“Hmmmm… yeah,” he agreed, begrudgingly. “I don’t entirely agree.”

“You don’t?”

“No. We met, something clicked. I don’t know what it was, but it happened. You know that.”

“Of course.”

“We’ve not done anything wrong. We are both free agents.”

“I just… want the storm to blow over first,” I reasoned. “People will be looking for us.”

“We aren’t being hunted,” he chuckled.

“Ben, please.”

“It’s okay, I know what you’re saying.”

“Just... let’s just see where this goes, under the radar, and we’ll go from there.”

He nodded. “Okay. But can I do one thing first?”

“Sure.”

Ben pulled me toward him, a leg resting between mine. “Can I at least kiss you?”

I smiled, ridiculously, giddy with excitement. “I adore that you’ve asked permission.”

“Something about being a proper gentleman.” He leant in, his lips hovering above mine.

“Proper English Gentleman?” I teased.

“That’s what they say.” He smiled.

My thoughts centred on the fingers he drew across the back of my neck, delicate, feather light, and burning in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Breathing changed, broken, hitched, and short, and I watched his eyes dark around my face, his spare hand coming to rest on my knee.

Sick of waiting, I clutched the hand on my knee, and leant into a kiss. He kissed me carefully, gently, slowly, our lips finding each other over again. His thumb brushed against my jawline, making my skin tingle with excitement. He tasted sweet, like the sugar in his tea, and I almost didn’t want it to end.

Almost.

“Tell me something,” I whispered, catching my breath as Ben peppered my cheeks with short, sharp little kisses.

“Anything.”

“Do you like girls in neck ties?”

He pulled back enough that we could look at each other. “Why? You got a kink?”

“Do you?”

“I might.”


	19. Chapter 19

There were media waiting for me at my office on Monday morning. Not a lot, but there were a few, and they rushed me as I tried to get through the front door. Rich was watching me from his office, a solitary finger signalling my need to be in his office five minutes ago.

“Is it true?” he asked.

“Depends on what rumour we’re talking about.” I was determined to keep the mood light and fluffy.

“Cumberbatch.”

“It might be.” Despite my best efforts, I smiled.

“Are you serious?”

I nodded, fiddling with the neck tie I’d decided would be nice to wear to work.

Rich sighed. “I’m not angry, so you know.”

“What’s the problem, Rich?”

“Those clowns have been out there since seven a.m. this morning. Every time someone walks in or out of the door, they’re asking about you.”

“Want me to go tell them to go away?”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“They’ll get sick of me eventually.”

“What’s with the tie?” He tipped his chin in my direction.

“Just trying something different.” I shrugged.

“You walked out on fifteen years for … that?”

“I’m not denying or confirming anything” I smiled. “How about that?”

“Look, just tell me if this is going to cause problems? I mean, I can already see one big problem outside…”

“I’ll speak to Ben, see if he can’t sort that out.”

Rich rolled his eyes. “Jesus, nicknames already.”

“What?” I laughed. “Come on, don’t be such a crank.”

“You’re not going to quit on me, are you?”

“Are you planning on firing me?”

“No, you’re the only one I can bloody count on here to do their work on time.”

“Well, we won’t have a problem, then, will we?”

“Alright, get out of here. Make those shutterbugs go away.”

“Will do.” I turned to walk out of his office.

“And Piper?”

“Yeah?”

“The tie suits.”

I laughed, and disappeared to my office.

**

“Is this you?” Candice shoved her phone under my nose. On her phone, in all its luminescent beauty, a photo of Benedict and I sneaking into a booth at the Hop Poles for a cheeky lunchtime beer earlier that day.

“Yeah,” I answered, stirring a sugar into my cappuccino.

“Is it true?” she asked.

“Is what true?”

“Are you dating him?” Alice leant forward, clutching at her own elbows. “Please, please say yes.”

I shook my head. “We’re good friends.”

“That’s not what the newspaper said.”

“I know what the newspaper said,” I answered. “It was Christopher that wrote the fucking press release about the end of our engagement.”

“Did he tell people you were dating?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “All I know is that Ben is a friend, and Christopher and I are no longer engaged.”

“But Benedict is now a Ben and Chrissey is now a Christopher.” Alice waggled her finger at me.

I laughed. “Yeah, okay, because that means something.”

“What’s on for the rest of the week?” Colin tried to break up discussion. Ten points for changing the subject.

Colin had been brought along to dinner by Alice. He worked with Alice in finance and my friends, thinking I was single, decided I needed to be set up with someone. At lunch, Ben and I had decided that we were going to lay low until interest had died right off. Whatever ‘this’ was, we’d agreed we both wanted something low-key, sacred, and for us, not the media.

“I’m developing some photos tomorrow night. I did a photoshoot over the weekend, so I need to get prints done for the Tate exhibit.”

“Listen to you,” Candice teased. “Tate exhibit. It’s so exciting.”

“Thank you.” I smiled.

“What are the photos of?”

“Humans.”

“And?”

“People?” I laughed. “You have to come to the opening and find out.”

“You’re not telling anyone?” Alice teased.

“No one knows?” Candice wouldn’t have believed me if I set fire to my head and called myself a match.

“No one.” I shook my head. “And I’ll be laying low until I finish the painting feature, too.”

My phone buzzed wildly in my pocket, leading to a few weird looks around the table.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Where are you?”

I smiled. “I’m near Embankment. You?”

“Just about to get on a train home. Turned up at your place, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m at the Sherlock Holmes near Embankment.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ben laughed.

“Was not my choice of pub,” I defended. “Meet you on the platform in thirty?”

“Want to catch a late night bite? I’ve got some news.”

“Sure. See you in thirty.”

Candice snatched my phone. “Who is this?... It is… Really?... I’m … I’m Candice… w-w-we met at London Film and Comic Convention… Oh… no I was just being smart… No… I wouldn’t do that… Okay… I’ll give the phone back.”

“Hello?” I was glad to have my phone back in my little hands.

“Is she going to be a problem?”

“I hope not.”

“I’m not having a crack, it’s just…”

“No, I know. I promise. It’s fine. I’ll have that discussion.”

“Thirty’s now twenty-five. See you soon.”

“Bye.” I hung up and looked at Candice.

“Sorry.” She offered a guilty smile.

“If anything comes out in the press I’m going to know exactly where to look.” I grabbed my jacket. “It’s not funny anymore.”

“Pipes, I was just playing.”

“I know, and I’m just saying. I’ll see you guys later.”


	20. Chapter 20

From our café near Embankment Station, we walked across the Jubilee Bridge towards the similarly named Jubilee Gardens, the early evening traffic slowing to little more than a trickle, though there were still hundreds trying to climb aboard the London Eye, its lights changing colour as it moved through the sky.

Stepping down onto the Queen’s Walk, Ben held his hand out for me with a rather gentlemanly bow as I approached. It was way beyond cute and I smiled like sideshow clown as we continued down toward the gardens.

A small group of girls walked past, giggling, snickering to themselves. My head followed them, trying to work out what the problem was, and Ben kept up his stride, looking down at the pavement.

Then the phones came out.

“Ben.” I tugged my hand out of his, our fingers slipping apart.

“What?” He looked up as I stood back.

They approached.

_Ben Cumberbatch?_

_Is that you?_

_Commander Jax?_

_Sherlock?_

_OMG._

_Oh. My. God._

_I can’t believe this._

_Can we get photos?_

_Can we get autographs?_

_Who’s your friend?_

_Who are you here with?_

_When are we getting more CounterShock? Sherlock? Why can’t we have Sherlock?_

_I saw your play!_

_We all did!_

_It was amazing!_

_We met through a fan group!_

_We love you so much!_

_Please, can you take a group photo of us?_

Ben shrugged. “Would you mind?”

“No, of course not.” I shook my head, smiled, and pulled myself back into the present.

The five girls lined up around Ben, a mess of tangled arms, excited smiles and hormones, and I took the photo. Twice for good measure. When I handed the phone back, the girl looked at me suspiciously.

“I know you, don’t I?” she asked, a none too friendly smile splashed across her face.

“I don’t think so, no,” I answered. “Thank you. Have a good night.”

Ben tried taking my hand again, but I stuffed them in the pockets of my jeans. He flashed me a strange look, but said nothing as the group of girls walked away in a gaggle of giggles and whispers.

“Hey, Comic Book Girl!”

Ben’s head whipped around in the direction of the shouting, which was followed by laughter, and the group of girls disappearing into the crowded mass of the London Eye.

I buried my face in my hands, gave it a vigorous rub and looked at Ben.

“What the fuck is Comic Book Girl?” He looked at me.

“I guess that would be me.”

“What?”

“You tell me.” I shrugged. “So far this week I’ve been a nobody, a gold digger, sleeping with you, not sleeping with you, angling to be an actress, taking you away from work.” I counted the ways out on my fingers.

“Is this why you’ve been standoffish? And where are you getting this from?”

“I have been?” I asked. “And the internet is the answer to that.”

“A little, yeah. It’s almost like there’s a barrier.” He gestured with his hands to the space between us.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean for there to be. I’m just worried.”

“About what?”

“Is it always going to be like this?”

“No.” Ben shook his head and held his arm out for me. “Come on, we’ll keep walking.”

I slipped my arm through his and we kept walking along the Thames, forgoing the sit down session in Jubilee Gardens. It was probably for the best, really. The walking facilitated a rather long discussion.

“So, it’ll go like this.” Ben pulled his arm away and swept it around my neck, pulling me into his body.

As if by comfortable instinct, I slipped my arm around his waist and waited. “Yeah.”

“If it’s anything like last time, the press will get wind, or some girls will get wind, like that lot, and it’ll blow up for what feels like forever, but will only be a week or two. At the most. They’ll get their photos, I’ll get Karon to release a statement, blah, blah, respect privacy, wank, wank, and everyone will go on their way.”

“Will they, though?”

“Generally they do, yeah.”

“When did you break up with your last girlfriend?”

“Alexandra? Eighteen months ago, just on the cusp of CounterShock becoming a thing.”

“Right, and since then?”

“One could say discreet encounters?”

“One night stands?”

“The occasional, yeah.”

At least he was honest, I couldn’t fault that.

“Okay, sure.” I nodded. “Does it have to be public?”

“No, not at all. Not if you don’t want to. It limits our public outings a bit but, if that’s what you want, we can do that.”

“It’s just that this is really fresh, isn’t it? I don’t want it splashed everywhere before we even know each other properly.”

“I do agree with you on that point. You don’t even do the family introductions this early, let alone the whole world.”

“Well, my mum knows about you,” he beamed. “Wants to know when you’re coming for Sunday lunch.”

“I officially have a dinner invite?”

“Oh God yeah,” he baulked, before imitating his mum. “She loves the art.”

“Ah, good work Mum.” I smiled.

“So, look. Here’s the deal.”

“Okay, let’s deal.”

“I will protect you as much as I possibly can, and I need you to trust that I will.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“And you know, this is going to involve time apart, but I figure you’ll get sick of me anyway, so time apart won’t hurt.”

I snorted. “Okay. Long periods?”

“I hope not. I’d like it not to be, but we can work that out at the time, can’t we?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

“But for now, it’s just you and me.”

“You and me,” I agreed.

“And fuck anyone that gets butthurt.”

A snigger turned into a giggle, turned into endless laughing as we stood on the spot outside Westminster Station. My arm still around Ben’s waist, and his around my neck, we folded in on each other.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I can get the train.”

“You sure?” He pinched at my chin.

“I’m sure.” I smiled.

_Hurry the fuck up and kiss me already!_

“I’ve really enjoyed today.”

“Me too.”

“Do we have to end the night already, though? It’s only just gone ten?”

“No, we don’t.” I slipped my other arm around his middle. “I can stay.”

“Good,” he mumbled. “I don’t want you to leave yet.”

Right on cue, Ben hiccupped. I looked at him oddly, questioning what was going on. Then another.

“What’s that?” I laughed, still wrapped up in him.

“I get the hiccups when I’m nervous.”

“You do not.”

“Uh, yes I do.”

“Why?”

“What if I fuck it up?”

“Oh God, get this over and done with already.”

Despite my outer bravado, my heart skipped a beat or five as I moved in for the kiss, Ben’s hand cupping the back of my head in a comfortable, all too familiar manner. I closed my eyes and tried to recall finite details of his face; his lips, the tiny divot at the end of his nose, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, the ocean blue eyes and black hair.

A thumb pad brushed against my cheek, rough and smooth colliding in an instant the moment his fingers slipped against my neck and the hiccups ceased.

“They’re gone.” I smiled.

Ben nodded, his nose buried against mine, lips hovering tightly over mine briefly as he kissed me over again, the awkwardness now gone, making way in big leaps for something more excited, more passionate.

I pulled back, allowing myself room to breathe, and realised I was clutching his sleeve, the fabric pulling tightly in my fist, and I’d wrapped my other arm around his neck.

As for Ben’s hand, the one that wasn’t caressing my face? A fumbling set of fingers had made their way down the centre of my back and landed on my backside.

“Okay?” he breathed.

“Perfect.”


	21. Chapter 21

I bounced up the stairs and through the front door of my parents’ home. A lunch invite was not unusual, we did them all the time, so I wasn’t expecting to find Chris sitting at the dining table with Mum.

I rolled my eyes and made to back out of the house.

“Piper, come back,” Mum bellowed.

“Why?”

“I just want to talk to you.” Chris stood and walked down the hall near me.

I rubbed my face and looked at him. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want to talk to you. You’re not answering my calls.”

I pulled my phone out and looked at the call log. “That might be because you haven’t called?”

“Of course I’ve called.”

“No. You haven’t,” I asserted.

“Just, sit down, will you? I want to talk to you.”

I glared at my mum as she got up and left, leaving the two of us with a boiling kettle and an open packet of Jammy Dodgers. Tea and biscuits was Mum’s solution to everything. Bad grades? Tea and biscuits. Teenage drama? Tea and biscuits. Broken bones? Tea and biscuits. Boy trouble? Clearly, tea and biscuits.

Breakdown of a relationship clearly fell under the tea and biscuits rule, as well.

Like a teenager in a huff, I threw myself down into the chair, folded my arms across the front of me and waited.

“Come on,” I started. “You wanted to talk.”

“Why do we have to do this agro?” Chris sat opposite me.

“Because you released a story to the press that I was sleeping with him, and I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“Is there anything going on there?”

“That’s nobody’s business.”

“It’s my business.”

“No, there’s nothing going on.”

“If I find out that there is.”

“I don’t care if you find out that there is,” I argued. “Your opinion is of no relevance in any of my relationships going forward. You ended this, if you’ll remember.”

“On the back of your ‘we need to talk’ garbage.”

“We did need to talk,” I agreed. “Then it got out of hand, and you ended it, and now I imagine you’re sitting here because you want another chance? Want a bit of a do-over?”

“It’s not exactly happening the way I planned it, but sure.”

“No.” I looked at him. “The answer is no. You blew it with your shitty attitude.”

“I started blanking you in favour of another man, did I?” he asked.

“I think I’m going to go.” I stood up. “I need to get to an appointment, I don’t have time to sit around rehashing shit. I hope you’re well, Christopher.”

I popped my head into the living room as I walked past. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

**

“Phone call line two.” My office door was open and closed again just as quickly.

I wiped some crumbs off the table and picked up the line. “Hello?”

“I’ve got news.”

“I noticed you forgot to tell me that the other night.” I smiled.

“I have to go away.”

“That’s not good news.”

“It’s okay, it’s only to Dublin. How are you feeling about weekends in Dublin?”

“Not sure if that’s gonna be an option. I mean, I’ve still got the Tate stuff to get ready. I can certainly try, though. Or you could come back here for weekends.”

“I can definitely do that. It’s only a short flight.”

“You little jetsetter, you,” I teased. “How’s your day? What are you up to?”

“Just a bit of this, a bit of that. Had a read-through this morning. Going to get a bite for lunch and then head home.”

“Can you come pick me up and we’ll get some lunch?”

“This goes against your whole keeping it quiet thing, doesn’t it?”

“Hmmm maybe,” I answered. “Coming to get me?”

“On the bus already.”

**

“Thank you.” I took a can off soft drink from Ben as he sat down next to me. “So, my mum called me over the weekend and asked me to come over.”

“Normal enough.”

“I get there and Chris was there waiting for me.”

“At your parents’ house?” He frowned. “Why are they taking his side?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. He said he wanted to talk, but all he wanted to know about was you.”

“Me?”

“Of course you. He thinks we’ve run off together in some romantic flowers and meadows bullshit.”

“Not quite. I mean, I’m about to go away for a month.”

“You are?” I looked at him.

“Yeah, filming in Dublin.”

“That’s okay. I can do with a break from you anyway.” I smiled.

“Thought so.”

“You coming home for weekends?”

“You going to be here on weekends?” he asked.

“I’m sure I can manage something. It’s been a while since I’ve had a pint of Guinness, though. I mean a real pint, so I could always come to you. Out of London would be nice.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make sure the room is suitable, then.”

“Please do,” I enthused.

“Come here, you’re missing something.” He wriggled a finger.

“What?” I asked.

“Come here.”

“What do you want?”

“I want you to kiss me,” he answered, leaning into me.

I smiled in giddy delight. “Just one?’

“A couple.”

“A couple is good.” I nodded, kissing him again. “I want to see you more.”

“More?”

“Yep.”

“Let’s work something out, then.”


	22. Chapter 22

I strode out of the airline gate and onto baggage claim. Rich had given me Friday – Monday off, so long as I could ensure all my work was up-to-date before I left. I got a few days ahead, working days, and late nights at home, and quipped that I was so far ahead I could afford to not come back.

He wasn’t keen on that idea.

Regardless, I found myself waiting for my bags, just after lunch on the Friday, at the baggage carousel in Dublin airport. Pre-arranged with Ben, I was to meet him at the hotel; they were aware I was coming, and my name was on another room, apparently should I need another room, or so he said.

“I’m sorry, Miss, it appears there’s been a mix up.”

“How so?” I asked.

“We don’t have you listed in a separate room. You’re in the same room with,” she leant forward to whisper, “Mr. Cumberbatch.”

I frowned. “I’m sure I was booked into a separate room.”

“I’m sorry, no.” She slid a room key across the counter. “You’re definitely listed as an occupant of his room.”

“That’s fine. Thank you. I’ll sort it out with him later. You don’t have any spare rooms?”

“Sorry, we’re booked out, I’m afraid. The whole production team are here.”

“Sure. No, that’s okay, it’s no trouble.”

“Phew,” she sighed. “Thought you were going to go crook.”

“God no, you’re only doing your job. Don’t be absurd.”

Ben arrived back a little after six p.m. Instead of sitting around and waiting, I’d been walking around the city centre, photographing odds and ends for inspiration. Then I switched the television on, made a cup of tea, and lied down to watch some telly.

“You awake?”

I flinched, feeling fingers threading through my hair, the pads of his fingers scratching across my scalp. Everything inside me tingled and pulled, and I rolled onto my back.

“No.” I smiled, looking down the bed at him under heavy eyes.

“No? Well, I’ll just leave you here, then, instead of taking you to dinner with everyone.”

“Communal dinner?”          

“Correct. Can I take you?”

I smiled. “Do you want to?”

“Well, I can order in and we can sit up here and be completely boring.” He pulled his boots off.

“And what happened to my own room?” I sat up properly.

“Yeah, about that.”

“You little shit.” I pinched his side, and he jumped away quickly.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“No, not half.”

“I promise. I was told there was going to be a room for you. I got here, and they forgot. I didn’t ring and tell you, because you wouldn’t come, would you?”

“Of course I’d still have come, don’t be silly.”

“Really?”

I leant forward into him, a hand on his cheek pulling him around to face me. My nose brushed against his, across his cheek and along his jawline, slightly stubbled despite a day of filming. My breath hitches in my throat, the smell, touch, and taste of him pulling at my every edge, unravelling the stitching holding me together.

He kissed me, softly at first, before taking my bottom lip between his, a gentle tug making my skin prick and tingle. Despite being a work all day, he smelt amazing, and I was sure his hands were leaving fingerprints on my neck and face as he drew his hand toward my mouth.

“Should we go to dinner?” I muttered, feeling the brush of his fingers across my bottom lip.

He nodded, eyes heavy, and breath scattered. “Let’s go.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awwwyissss, we're back! Sorry it's been so long. If it wasn't for those pesky kids.... and real life!

The hotel we were staying at certainly wasn’t the top ranked in town, and it didn’t have to be. My theory was that I just needed a bed to sleep in, though something told me I wouldn’t be doing a great deal of sleeping any time soon. A restaurant that took up the entire third floor gave the cast and crew more than enough space.

“Closed for private function?” I teased, walking past a giant sign as we stepped out of the elevator.

“How rude and privileged do these people think they are?” Ben pouted. “Terrible human beings.”

“Horrible.”

Tables filled up quickly, each of them decorated cleanly and elegantly. White table cloths, shining silverware, a small candle and singular flowers in long, thin vases. White cloth napkins were folded into swans atop of each place setting. We managed to find the last table for two toward the back of the room in a cosy little corner.

“Are you okay?” Ben leant across and filled my glass.

“Of course.” I nodded. “All good.”

“Trip over good?”

I smiled. “Fine. How’s your day been? This is all very… boring discussion.”

Ben leant forward, squashing his napkin swan under the weight of his chest, the flame of the candle flickering in his eyes. “What do you want me to say? Can’t wait to get you upstairs and fuck you? I want to eat you out and make you beg and scream until the occupants of the next hotel along can hear you screaming my name?”

Someone must have been running a vacuum in the room, because it felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. A warm pull tugged between my legs and tied my stomach in knots, and my eyes widened to the approximate size of dinner plates as they darted around the room, hoping like hell no one else had heard.

“So, your flight over?” Ben smiled as a waiter approached. “Acceptable?”

“Very,” I squeaked.

“Drinks?” A waiter looked back and forth between the two of us. I was sure I was about to combust, while Ben sat with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Scotch.” I nodded, frowning. “All the scotch.”

The waiter’s eyebrows disappeared up into his hairline. “A double-shot then?”

**

Ben’s jacket was shucked over my shoulders before he had a chance to argue. Too big for me, blue, warm, and smelling of is cologne, I wasn’t so much as leaving the hotel without something warm to wear.

“You good?”

“Stop asking me that, Jesus, I’m fine.”

“I’m not sure Jesus would like you to speak of him like that,” he chuckled.

“I thought you didn’t believe in Jesus?”

“Maybe I have a friend named Jesus.”

“You’re an idiot,” I laughed. “Let’s go walking.”

“You seriously want to walk?”

My mouth popped open into an O shape. “I seriously want to go for a walk. I want to see Dublin at night.”

“Alrighty then.” He offered me his elbow, and I slipped my arm through his gently. “Let’s do this.”

By two a.m. the streets were near but empty, but it was wonderful. It afforded us the opportunity to walk around quietly, alone, wrapped up in our own little world. There were a few stragglers late at night, heading home after one too many pints. For the most part, however, we were alone.

“I’m glad you could come.” Ben slipped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his chest.

“I’m glad I’m here, too,” I answered. “Not looking forward to going back to work Monday, though.”

“What time is the Sunday flight?”

“Lunch time.”

“Damn.”

“Oh well. You’ll be home soon.”

“What do you want to do when I get home?” Ben pried, albeit a bit nervously.

“I guess we just see how it goes?” I was sure we’d had this discussion already. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious as to where I stand.”

“Well, Ben, it’s not like I’m here to fuck spiders, is it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” He stopped still in the middle of the street.

“I didn’t come all this way to play tiddlywinks.” I smiled.

“On that note, we shall away back to the hotel.” He grabbed my hand tightly, dragging me back in the direction of the hotel.


	24. Chapter 24

Large floor to ceiling glass doors slid open as we walked underneath the censors. The lobby was bathed in dim lighting, giving it a lovely warm glow. The bellhops waited nearby, always on the lookout for someone with bags, tourists lounged on leather chairs, waiting for cabs to late night events, and the concierge was busy at the desk arguing with a late night customer.

The neat shoes, slacks, shirt, and that blonde hair. I knew his shape anywhere.

“I would just like very much to speak to her, please. Could you call up to her room?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t even tell you who is staying here. It’s a personal privacy issue.”

Ben’s grip on my hand tightened and then let slip completely. I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, and I glanced down in time to see his hand let go of mine and drop to his side. My eyes met his, full of questions.

“I don’t know,” I muttered, as I debated what I should do. He clearly knew I was there; how, I’ll never know. Walking away would just be more trouble than it was worth, but staying could be just as bad.

“This is ridiculous,” Ben answered.

“I know.”

“How is he here?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? I didn’t tell him we were here.”

“And neither did I!” I shrieked.

That was all it took. It got not only the attention of the bellhops and random tourists, but of concierge, and Christopher. He turned slowly and walked toward me. Ben huffed and disappeared toward the elevator.

“Where are you going?” I hissed.

“Anywhere but here.” He shrugged.

“What’s the supposed to mean?”

“Well, I don’t particularly want to see this.”

I frowned, narrowing my eyes at him as Chris came to a stop in front of me. For the first time in a long time I couldn’t work out the look that he wore on his face. In the background, a ding signalled the disappearance of the elevator, and of Ben.

“What?” I snapped.

“That’s a bit rude.”

“What do you want? A ticker-tape parade?”

“Well, no, but you could at least be polite. I haven’t done anything wrong,” he scoffed. He genuinely believed he was doing the right thing.

“Hello, Christopher, so lovely to see you. How are you on this fine evening?”

“Well, thank you,” he answered, fists shoved in his pockets.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m here for business.”

“I don’t follow.”

“A conference with the magazine. Also did a few interviews.”

“As the editor?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Thought I’d get the hands dirty, have a bit of fun.”

“Okay,” I answered slowly. “How do I play a part in all of this.”

“I’m wondering if you’ve got time for a drink.”

“Hmmm,” I pondered. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” I reinforced. “Need to get upstairs to bed… I mean Ben… actually, same thing.” I shrugged. “Goodnight.”


	25. Chapter 25

“I’m getting married,” Chris called after me.

I stopped on the spot, only momentarily, and kept going. There was no way in hell I wanted him to think that I cared at all. Then, of course I cared. I’d spent ten years with him. It hadn’t been that long since we’d split, and now here he was, bright as a sunny day, telling me he was getting married.

It took him ten years to decide what he wanted with me. Only a matter of months with ‘her’. Whoever ‘her’ was. His eyes were set on me as the elevator doors closed and he disappeared from sight. I swiped my room card and watched the computerized numbers inside the elevator being rising. All the way to my floor. To Ben. To an angry Ben.

I found him pacing back and forth across the carpet, a nimble hand rested on his hip, and the other rubbing his mouth constantly. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and he wore a scowl on his face. A quiet click signaled the door closing, and he looked up at me, still pacing.

“What was that?”

“He came to tell me he’s getting married.”

“Really? He came to tell you that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I didn’t ask him to come here. I didn’t ask him to tell me.”

“What is it about him? You could have just walked away?”

I snorted. “Yeah, I could have, if I were rude. But I spent a lot of my life with that man.”

“He’s not a man.”

“You know what? He has a penis, that makes him a man. I can’t just ignore that that part of my life happened. I don’t like what’s going on now, but there’s not a lot I can do without being completely nasty.”

“Is he still downstairs? I have a right mind to tell him -.”

“Benedict, you don’t need to tell him anything.”

“Well, what are you going to tell him?”

“You think I want him here? I mean, if he’s here for work like he says he is, there’s not a lot I can do. It is a free country.”

“Are you shitting me? You’re going to make excuses for him?”

“I’m not making excuses for anyone, I’m just saying -.”

“You need to make a choice.”

“You are kidding me?” I laughed.

“No, no I’m not.” He shook his head. “Every. Single. Time things start working for us, he fucks it up, and all you can think to do is tell me it’s a free country.”

“Because it is?”

“Him or me.”

I laughed. “You are joking? You’re gonna turn into one of them?”

“I’m not turning into anything; I just don’t like that he keeps getting in the way.”

“And what happens when we run into one of your many girlfriends in London? And don’t pretend it won’t happen. I’d heard all about you by the time the papers had given up printing my picture for five minutes.”

“Great, we’re gonna go there.”

“Why not? You want to carry on at me about Chris, let’s talk about all your flings. What happens when one of them decides it’s heart-eyes at fifty paces and wants you back? Or that bloody fan that shows up everywhere. Clearly she’s got nothing better to do with her time, but what do I know? Maybe you’re telling her to show up.”

“Let’s not blow this out of proportion.” Ben held a hand out.

“Blow it out of proportion? I think it’s fairly obvious who started blowing things out of proportion.”

“He’s your ex-boyfriend!” Ben shouted.

“You don’t think I know that? He left me because of you. So every single time I look at you, I’m reminded of that.”

“You regret this.” He pointed back and forth between us. “You… you don’t want this.”

“I never said that.” I took a deep breath. “I’m saying I gave up a lot for you, that’s how much at least your friendship meant.” I gathered up my jacket. “I’m going to go find somewhere else to stay for the night.”

Long fingers ran through his hair, a glorious shade of black, and his eyes cut through everything he looked at. “Don’t go.”

“I don’t much feel wanted here, so I think it’s a good idea.”

“You are wanted here.”

The sound of the zip on my suitcase was the only sound in the room. “Call me when I’m not in your way tomorrow.” I reefed on the door handle and left, beady eyes of room service, cleaners, and co-stars looking at me.

Great. Just great.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, but I wanted to get these two back on track. Are you interested in seeing more?

The newspaper reports died down after a month or so.

No longer was there speculation that we were just being secretive, had gotten married privately, or were partaking in all out screaming matches in the street. We just weren’t anything, but the papers held on to their last dying breath.

By the end of month two, reporters had stopped following me. They’d stopped screaming questions at me, and stopped printing rubbish that Benedict and I were meeting up in secret, arriving and leaving separately. None of it happened, and none of it was true.

My brain had turned to mush artistically. Everyone has those moments, but it meant I was shit out of luck trying to think of a new direction for my Tate exhibition. I went with what I had, and that included photos of Ben. And me. Being happy.

With no idea of whether or not he’d show up, and no contact forthcoming from either of us, I put on my best dress, my best shoes, and ambled onto the Tube. I loved the juxtaposition of it all. An exhibit that was being talked about as bringing in enough money that I could move out of my little flat, and there I was sitting on the District line next to a guy that smelt of urine and was watching porn.

***

People milled about, hand shaking and nodding along while they asked the same questions over again. One or two were game enough to go with the old, “So, what about Cumberbatch, eh?”. I couldn’t say anything other than, “I hear he’s well, and it’s such a shame.” What else did they expect, really?

Watching a room full of people marvel over something that you’d done is a surreal experience. Particularly given the history of the photos and the painting that I’d submitted. Instead, I opted to go and look at other pieces. It was more comfortable. I was more comfortable. The room felt like it was closing in on me.

On my own, I walked the walls of a quiet room and looked at the paintings contained within. Normally I’d look at paint thrown on canvas and think nothing of it. It was just that, someone with a water pistol full of paint going crazy. This one was titled ‘The Madness of Love’.

“You don’t say,” I muttered, sipping from my wine glass.

The door of the room opened, a roar of conversation and clatter of feet on concrete following into the room. My peace and quiet was over momentarily, but soon returned as the door shut.

“I’m really proud of you, you know that, right?”

Ben’s voice echoed through the empty chamber, and my heart thumped like someone had turned up the defibrillator. I listed as his footsteps crossed the floor and he landed next to me. My mouth opened and closed, trying to work its way around words it didn’t know it wanted to say.

“I didn’t expect you,” I finally managed.

“I couldn’t be anywhere else.”

“How are you?” I asked, still not looking at him.

“Well, thank you. Yourself?”

“If we’re going to lie to each other, I’m great,” I choked. Tears I definitely didn’t want were threatening me.

“Yeah, I’m shit,” he admitted.

“Me, too.”

“I’m terrible at these kinds of things.”

“Then don’t.” I looked across at him.

“You and me. In private. No newspapers, no third parties, complete honesty.”

“I was nothing but honest with you.”

“I know that now.”

“I loved you.” My bottom lip gave out. “Like really fell flat on my face, drowning in the sea in love.”

Ben shook his head. “I still feel like that.

I swallowed the remainder of my wine and waited.

He thrust his hand out between the two of us. “Hello, my name’s Ben. Big fan of your work.”


	27. Chapter 27

‘How’d you find that whole experience in there?’ Ben asked, crossing the street into Whitehall.

A small laugh escaped. ‘Honestly? I wanted to vomit. I mean, it’s Tate, isn’t it?’

‘Well received, though.’ He pointed at me. ‘Incredibly well received.’

I shrugged. ‘We’ll see what comes of it.’

What came of it was another deluge of luck. Everything sold, with requests for prints. The following Monday, my email was jam packed with requests and general good wishes. Christopher was in the paper – a hastily organised wedding photo splashed into the third page. It looked haphazard and rushed, and he didn’t at all look excited about it. As it turned out, it was a shotgun wedding, so I imagine that might’ve had something to do with his citrus smile.

‘He is not a calm human being.’ Jasper clicked his tongue at the sight of the newspaper. ‘Not a cosmically settled individual at all.’

‘Cosmically settled?’ I smirked. ‘I like that.’

‘How about you?’ he asked.

‘What about me?’

‘Did you see him?’

I had one of two options at this point. I could lie, or I could lie. A late night stroll down Whitehall had led to an even later coffee and, eventually, a good night kiss on my doorstep. Ben wasn’t joking when he said we’d take things slowly, quietly, and that we’d keep it to ourselves. Nothing had made the newspapers, and we didn’t intend on anything showing up either.

‘See how?’ I asked.

‘Benedicto,’ he sighed. ‘Please tell me you fucked him into next Sunday.’

I laughed loudly enough that I’m sure the entire office block could hear me. ‘No, no I didn’t.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Very. Do you want to catch some lunch with me?’

‘Wow, you really did dump him if I’m getting a lunch invite,’ he muttered. ‘Let me get my coat.’

**

‘So, I know this isn’t the Hop Poles, I’m very sorry about that.’ Ben placed a dish in front of me. ‘But it is home, and it is private.’

Sat in his lounge room, dinner on my lap, I wondered how he could possibly expect me to be offended by the prospect. Allowed to pick an activity for the night, I requested a film, pyjamas, chocolate, wine, and dinner if he could be bothered. I was picked up in the early afternoon and we drove back to his house in deafening silence.

‘You know, I’m completely okay with it not being the pub.’

‘Good, I’m glad. I don’t think we’ll be going back there for a while.’ Resting his feet on the coffee table, he crossed one ankle over the other.

The remainder of the night was spent casting nervous glances at each other, a riotous laughter breaking out when we finally turned to each other at the same time.

‘Are you nervous?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what I am.’

‘You’re holding back.’

‘I know.’

‘Very enclosed.’

‘I know.’

‘Do you think you could let me in again?’

I watched as his fingers reached up to tuck a lose lock of hair behind my ear. ‘I think so, yes.’

‘What are you thinking about?’ Ben asked, sinking back into the couch, his head rested against the back cushion.

‘Where do you see us? Or what do you see when you see us?’ I asked quietly, my position mirroring his.

‘When I see you, I see everything. I see everything I’ve done wrong in the past, and everything I’ll get right in the future. I see what I have been and what I want to be. I know what I don’t have and what I want, and all of those involve you.’

‘You know how to kill a girl, don’t you?’ I teased.

‘Did I do good? I thought I did okay?’

‘You did amazing.’

Cupping the back of my neck, he pulled me in close for a kiss. ‘What if I asked you to stay the night?’

‘I’d ask what time do you want to set the alarm for?’


End file.
